“I would enter the desert alone, to leave in the sand endless footprints only to be obliterated by the wind, to walk the same path each day expecting the same path tomorrow, and perhaps to cease wondering at the bloom and wither of lilies only to linger for death. But no, even in the desert, I would seek a new sanctuary, to contemplate a grain of sand in a sea of dryness…”― Leonard Seet, Meditation on Space-Time
When people are too open-minded it can lead them into being unable to discriminate between sense and nonsense.
To follow foolish precedents and to wink with both our eyes, is easier than to think.
“One minute I’m just another rabbit and happy about it, next minute whazaam, I’m thinking. That’s a major drawback if you’re looking for happiness as a rabbit, let me tell you. You want grass and sex, not thoughts like ‘What’s it all about, when you get right down to it?'”
(Terry Pratchett, Moving Pictures)
“He’d noticed that sex bore some resemblance to cookery: it fascinated people, they sometimes bought books full of complicated recipes and interesting pictures, and sometimes when they were really hungry they created vast banquets in their imagination – but at the end of the day they’d settle quite happily for egg and chips. If it was well done and maybe had a slice of tomato.”
― Terry Pratchett, The Fifth Elephant
ˆFOTO – HOMEGROWN TOMATOES AT THE BEACHSHACK
“The reason that the rich were so rich, Vimes reasoned, was because they managed to spend less money.
Take boots, for example. He earned thirty-eight dollars a month plus allowances. A really good pair of leather boots cost fifty dollars. But an affordable pair of boots, which were sort of OK for a season or two and then leaked like hell when the cardboard gave out, cost about ten dollars. Those were the kind of boots Vimes always bought, and wore until the soles were so thin that he could tell where he was in Ankh-Morpork on a foggy night by the feel of the cobbles.
But the thing was that good boots lasted for years and years. A man who could afford fifty dollars had a pair of boots that’d still be keeping his feet dry in ten years’ time, while the poor man who could only afford cheap boots would have spent a hundred dollars on boots in the same time and would still have wet feet.
This was the Captain Samuel Vimes ‘Boots’ theory of socioeconomic unfairness.”
― Terry Pratchett, Men at Arms: The Play
Philosophy is the art of drawing conclusions from definitions that have been chosen so that one can draw the conclusions one would like to get. It immediately follows that philosophy is silly.
Thomas Kettenring’s .sig file.
If I supply you with a thought, you may remember it and you may not. But if I can make you think a thought for yourself, I have indeed added to your stature.
– Elbert Hubbard
As if one said to a man, " Yes, go on, you can do it," knowing well that he cannot. To egg him on.
The Sydney Morning Herald (NSW : 1842 – 1954), Saturday 25 March 1933
The lizard, when it feels cold at night, says to itself " to-morrow I will find a smouldering tree to sleep in so that I shall be warm." Next day when it basks in the sun it forgets and does not do it ; the consequence is that it feels cold again next night.
for Peter Barden
Penury in Sydney had grown stale
And, at twenty-two, my childhood was in danger
So I preceded you, in all but spirit,
To the far-back country
Where the tar roads end.
In the silent lands
Time broadens into space.
Approaching Port Augusta, going on,
Iron-brown and limitless, the plains
Were before me all day. Burnt mountains fell behind
In the glittering sky.
At dawn, the sun would roll up from his lair
In the kiln-dry lake country, fire his heat straight through
The blind grey scrub, awaken me beside wheeltracks
And someone’s car, and I would travel on.
At noon, far out in a mirage, I would brew
Tea with strangers, yarn about jobs in the North
And, chewing quietly, watch maybe an upstart
Dust-devil forming miles off, going high
To totter, darken
And, quite suddenly, vanish
Leaving a formless, thinning stain in the heavens.
Where the spirits of sea-cliffs
Hovered on the plain
I would remember routines we had invented
For putting spine into shapeless days: the time
We passed at a crouching trot down Wynyard Concourse
Tell each other in loud mock-Arunta and gestures
What game we were tracking down what haunted gorge . . .
But they sustained me like water,
They, and the is-ful ah!-nesses of things.
Euroa Advertiser (Vic. : 1884 – 1920), Friday 20 February 1885,
The chains of addiction are too light to be felt until they are too strong to be broken. SWAHILI.
“Keep your head up, forge forward fee-sabeel-illah, keep praying, learning, thinking, following your dreams, and loving the people in your life. It’s all worth it, it all matters and makes a difference. Every single thing you do is meaningful, even when you don’t see it. You are my brothers, my sisters, my heroes.” –
Queensland Times (Ipswich) (Qld. : 1909 – 1954), Monday 5 August 1946,
MY SISTER’S STAYING. THINGS ARE NOTMy sister’s staying. Things are not
where I’m used to finding them. This time
I tell myself it doesn’t matter. This time
I’m the one who has been cut. The poem
I wrote for her has come back to bite me.
So she is here to help. She’s already done
the garden, finishing off the jobs her sister started.
The peace lily my mother gave me when my father died
has been re-potted and is doing well beneath the camellia.
Today we walked to Market Town for a little bit of retail
therapy: DVDs and shoes. We also saw a movie called
Brokeback Mountain, which, according to the publicists,
is about gay cowboys. In fact it’s more about
how love isn’t always able to be
what you want.
We also watch her favourite TV shows, most of which
seem to be about the supernatural. And every now and then
she says something that lets me know how she coped
with her cancer. Keeping company, we are aware
of how living and dying reach out to each other, learning to be
at ease in my new leather lounge. It’s good: we’re still here
for the moment and that will have to be enough.
From: Touching the Hem
Publisher: Vagabond Press, Sydney, 2005
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow ‘My LostYouth’, in Putnam’s Monthly Magazine, vol.6, Aug. Collected in The Courtship of Miles Standish and Other Poems, 1858. In his diary Longfellow notes that these lines are from an ‘old Lapland song’.
But an old age serene and bright, and lovely as a Lapland night,
shall lead thee to thy grave.
– William Wordsworth
Linnaeus in Lapland
BY LORINE NIEDECKER
One day Chuang-tzu and a friend were walking along a riverbank. “How delightfully the fishes are enjoying themselves in the water!” Chuang-tzu exclaimed.
“You are not a fish,” his friend said. “How do you know whether or not the fishes are enjoying themselves?”
“You are not me,” Chuang-tzu said. “How do you know that I do not know that the fishes are enjoying themselves?”
You, that are going to be married, think things can never be done too fast: but we that are old, and know what we are about, must elope methodically, madam.
Julia Quinn, The Duke and I
by JAS H. DUKE
I’m in the shit business
I work for the sewerage department
I analyse experiments
I draw graphs and flow charts
today I was sitting at my desk
trying to explain
the dissolved air flotation process
where streams of little bubbles are released
into a tank full of sewerage
to float the suspended solids up to the surface
to be skimmed off
but what I was really thinking about
“There were no childish flights of fancy here – no silly games of ‘pretend’, and certainly no bedtime stories. ‘Not under our roof’, my grandmother would say, rolling her eyes. She often rolls her eyes in that fashion, especially when talking about our neighbours, the Darlings. She did this even in front of Mrs Darling, when she once came over to invite me to an afternoon play session with her three children.”
“Keep your head up, forge forward fee-sabeel-illah, keep praying, learning, thinking, following your dreams, and loving the people in your life. It’s all worth it, it all matters and makes a difference. Every single thing you do is meaningful, even when you don’t see it. You are my brothers, my sisters, my heroes.”
– Wael Abdelgawad
― Bob Marley
Lying Down In My Hotel Room,
Thinking About The Day
I have spent too long
telling the world the world is the world
and poetry is made of language.
Today on the Bedford platform, I began
the great poem: weeping openly on the public
telephone—the way some were staring
as they swirled past, the way some
weren’t—yes: it was truth