quotation debate

[zero]

~ picture me staring at you... yeah! then grab my hand and fly.

_______________________

a light breeze hesitates around me.
the air is pure as the soul of a buddha.
the sky is limpid and bright as the heart of e.t.
i am ready to change, once more.

with the lights out,
in the most ontological silence,
i gently place the palms
of my yearning hands
on the heart of my soul,
i close my eyes
and with infinite expectancy
prepare to savour
an infinity of pain
in a way only i know how to feel.
the pain of ecstatic vision.

it is a moment of extraordinary intensity
that catapults me into the first day of creation.
i feel the scope of my desire:
a desire for emotional transfiguration
that equals nothing,
not even the explosion of the supernova
still, i wish to make you share it,
now, while i feel it,
now yeah, man, yeah!

ah, friend, if you were here with me!
none of that simple communion
of experiences along treaded routes.
you would share a unique trip to intensity...
in the very moment in which I'd shake your hand,
you would perceive and interpret my biorhythm
and all my vibrations,
with the knowledge of your extrasensory response.
and my biorhythm
would immediately return
to optimum vital level
and my whole being would pass
from the melancholy-depressive
to the most harmonious tonic-active
vibrational frequency.
spreading onto you like an aura.

yeah, man, yeah:
i need you to become real,
and not just a reading presence:
a virtual presence indeed.
you are a flesh and blood human,
are you not?
then transmit to me,
with all the tenderness
of a real warm embrace,
your marvellous,
vividly coloured images
of your pictorial mind and
make'em flow into mine.

yeah, man, yeah:
i'd visualise greatly loved landscapes,
faces of favourite people (finally!) and animals,
adored paintings, sculptures and objets d'art,
aphorisms and extracts of poetry
and prose of amazing beauty and profundity,
with a perfectly intuited background music,
celestial to say the least.

all this transforms me, man, yeah:
transmutes me ispo facto.
you'd loosen all the knots
of my compressed energy
and empty all the sacks
of my neurosis.

while i float light, fluid
and vibrating with joy and peace
in a state of pre-nirvana,
because of my inspirational state...
i understand that communion of kindred spirits
is a soliloquy of cosmic import,
architecture of extreme spatial possibilities.
communion - friendship is in fact a spatial fresco,
i do believe.
and as you read me now, i find light
and shadow of the spirit
in the spring of my emotion.
from the abyss that we are,
both you and me, yeah!

man, yeah:
the strength comes to us
from the unexplored regions of the ego,
the mind's eye to offer itself to community.

that image lives in the background space,
in the remote cellars of the ego
that borders on the cellars
of all the other companions and brothers,
printed on the eternal pages.

and so it comes up from free imagination,
from the hand in direct contact with the heart,
like writing,
its brake invisible and pure.

- daubmir nadir

.

[12"razormix]

He seemed to take to me quite as naturally and unbiddenly as I to him; and when our smoke was over, he pressed his forehead against mine, clasped me round the waist, and said that henceforth we were married; meaning, in his country's phrase, that we were bosom friends; he would gladly die for me, if need should be. In a countryman, this sudden flame of friendship would have seemed far too premature, a thing to be much distrusted; but in this simple savage those old rules would not apply.

[zero]

when i turn off the light
and the dark mile between us
crumples and falls,
you slip from your self
to wait for me in my sleep,
the face of the moon sinking into a cloud;

or i wake bereaved
from the long hours
i spend in your dreams,
an owl in the forest crying its soft vowels,
dark fish swimming under the river’s skin.

night marriage. the small hours join us,
face to face as we sleep and dream;
the whole of the huge night is our room

-=c. a. d

[12"razormix]

i am never without it

[zero]

colonial circa 1760, perhaps south african.

- schredds of portobello

[12"razormix]

somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me
or which i cannot touch because they are too near

ee cummings

[zero]

we twa hae run about the braes,
and pou'd the gowans fine,
but we've wander'd monie a weary fit,
sin auld lang syne.

we twa hae paidl'd in the burn
frae morning sun till dine,
but seas between us braid hae roar'd
sin auld lang syne.

and there's a hand my trusty fiere,
and gie's a hand o thine,
and we'll tak a right guid-willie waught,
for auld lang syne

for auld lang syne, my dear,
for auld lang syne,
we'll tak a cup of kindness yet,
for auld lang syne!

- robert burns

[ManOWhore]

"oh, what an ass am I." - Shakespeare

and

"The American people know, what the American people see." - Bush

[12"razormix]

HANK: Dale, is that you?

[zero]

DALE: Hank, what would weirdos be doing near the gas station? (suspicious) What would weirdos be doing near the gas station...?

[12"razormix]

you know, it's the old glass box at the—
at the gas station
where you're using those little things
trying to pick up the prize
and you can't find it

it's—
and it's all these arms are going down in there
and so you keep dropping it
and picking it up again and moving it

but—
some of you are probably too young to remember those
those glass boxes

donald rumsfeld, department of defense news briefing
dec. 6, 2001

[zero]

the thing with kids is, if they want to grab for the gold ring, you have to let them do it and not say anything. if they fall off, they fall off, but it's bad if you say anything to them.


j. d. salinger

[Brynn]

You only saw red
After I said, "How can we continue?"
Hidden from your view
In the blue corner that I painted myself into
Then we started to fight
And it changed everything
Here's the ring

You dropped the band, I can't understand it
Not after all we've been through
Words start to fly, my glass jaw and I
Will find one to walk right into

You knocked me out
It was the sweetest punch
The bell goes...

I can hear it ringing, but I didn't see it coming
We all say things we don't mean
You can't take it back

Now the room is spinning, but was I the last to notice?
I can see I'll never win
So if you're going
Then you better go to him
Then you better go to him

I only saw stars
I dropped my guard, and that's how it ended
What was I to do
In the blue corner where I seemed to hang suspended?

Then with seconds to go
You delivered the blow
Here I go

You dropped the band, I can't understand it
Not after all we've been through
Words start to fly, my glass jaw and I
Will find one to walk right into

You knocked me out
It was the sweetest punch
The bell goes...

I can hear it ringing, but I didn't see it coming
We all say things we don't mean
You can't take it back

Now the room is spinning, but was I the last to notice?
I can see I'll never win
So if you're going
Then you better go to him
Then you better go to him


---Elvis Costello, "The Sweetest Punch"

[12"razormix]

punch remembers where he has been
judy knows he's being fair
punch has always hugged her tightly
judy's waited on his touch
punch has dreamed about her every night
and judy's never had that much
punch always had a sense of humour
and judy must've realised that
he always cut a famous figure
with his truncheon and his hat
judy's always been his bright flag
shows the audience a smile
cos she knows when they've all gone home
she can lick him clean in style

the stranglers

[zero]

probably the most violent form of live entertainment enjoyed by children today, punch and judy puppet shows are a 300-year-old english tradition with roots in italian commedia. mr. punch is a hunchbacked and henpecked husband who, in the course of each show, tricks and kills all of the other characters, including his wife judy, their baby, jack ketch the hangman and various other authority figures, the (nowadays omitted) black servant jim crow, a dragon or crocodile, a ghost, and the devil. besides his hump, his big hooked nose (in commedia this is a sign of sexual gusto), and his striped club, punch has a distinctively garbled voice made by talking through a "swazzle." after each of his crimes, he cries "that's the way to do it!"; when the devil has been done away with, punch exults to the audience: "the devil is dead! now everyone can do as he likes!"

eli bishop