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Pin by Stephanie on Art and Illustration | Pinterest on We Heart It.


Pin by Stephanie on Art and Illustration | Pinterest on We Heart It.

Kenneth Patchen
from Poetry magazine (April 1953)

Kenneth Patchen

from Poetry magazine (April 1953)

Kenneth Patchen
from Poetry magazine (April 1953)

Kenneth Patchen

from Poetry magazine (April 1953)

Kenneth Patchen
from Poetry magazine (April 1953)

Kenneth Patchen

from Poetry magazine (April 1953)

Speak softly; sun going down
Out of sight. Come near me now.

Dear dying fall of wings as birds
complain against the gathering dark …

Exaggerate the green blood in grass;
the music of leaves scraping space;

Multiply the stillness by one sound;
by one syllable of your name …

And all that is little is soon giant,
all that is rare grows in common beauty

To rest with my mouth on your mouth
as somewhere a star falls

And the earth takes it softly, in natural love …
Exactly as we take each other …
and go to sleep …

Kenneth Patchen, Fall of the Evening Star

(via wirnya8)


I just learned maracujá is originally from Brazil. Nothing anyone would ever say would change my mind when I say I was born in the right place.

Remember to eat your passionfruit, everyone :)

Why I Write

(i) Sheer egoism. Desire to seem clever, to be talked about, to be remembered after death, to get your own back on the grown-ups who snubbed you in childhood, etc., etc. It is humbug to pretend this is not a motive, and a strong one. Writers share this characteristic with scientists, artists, politicians, lawyers, soldiers, successful businessmen — in short, with the whole top crust of humanity. The great mass of human beings are not acutely selfish. After the age of about thirty they almost abandon the sense of being individuals at all — and live chiefly for others, or are simply smothered under drudgery. But there is also the minority of gifted, willful people who are determined to live their own lives to the end, and writers belong in this class. Serious writers, I should say, are on the whole more vain and self-centered than journalists, though less interested in money.

(ii) Aesthetic enthusiasm. Perception of beauty in the external world, or, on the other hand, in words and their right arrangement. Pleasure in the impact of one sound on another, in the firmness of good prose or the rhythm of a good story. Desire to share an experience which one feels is valuable and ought not to be missed. The aesthetic motive is very feeble in a lot of writers, but even a pamphleteer or writer of textbooks will have pet words and phrases which appeal to him for non-utilitarian reasons; or he may feel strongly about typography, width of margins, etc. Above the level of a railway guide, no book is quite free from aesthetic considerations.

(iii) Historical impulse. Desire to see things as they are, to find out true facts and store them up for the use of posterity.

(iv) Political purpose. — Using the word ‘political’ in the widest possible sense. Desire to push the world in a certain direction, to alter other peoples’ idea of the kind of society that they should strive after. Once again, no book is genuinely free from political bias. The opinion that art should have nothing to do with politics is itself a political attitude.

George Orwell, “Why I Write” (via drcalvin)

Love Orwell. And: how about “spiritual/emotional purpose”?

(via drcalvin)

➜ Bank-robbin’ in Brooklyn by Kristin Dombek

A good and felt reminder of capitalism’s effect on the inner life, and of the necessity to feel, then to act…  Read this.


Since the age of 12 I have worked forty-five different jobs. I counted for you. No, I am not 300 years old, Bank-robbin’; I worked most of these two or three at a time, like a real patriot, since none of them paid enough to live on. What I will have to say to you, by the end of this, is that anyone who has found a way to transform anger into purpose and even some measure of peace about work has learned to reckon with two contradictory truths.

  1. Most work seems designed to make you feel absolutely alone, and
  2. Almost everyone, if they are honest with themselves, feels exactly like you about much of the work they do.

The space between these two truths is interesting. It is in acknowledging the relation between them that you might find, even within this construct, some room to make “a real and full life.” And one of the steps toward doing this is exactly what you have done: to reveal, in whatever means at your disposal—with friends, co-workers, in writing, in whatever art you do, and in political action—what shitty work is like, and how much you’re paid, and how the exploitation you’ve described registers in your mind and body, and what you think about the absurdity of living in service of an economy that requires you to sell your labor for much less than it’s worth. I do not say this lightly, as if it is some kind of easy answer, but I do think it is currently one of the most effective ones. Both exploitative labor and the inability to find exploitative labor make you feel ashamed. But you should not be. We have to get over the feeling of shame at having failed to find a “meaningful career,” this staggering gap between what we are supposed to want and what is possible for most of us. We have to use every opportunity to make transparent the nature of work and the real consequences of the embargoing of wealth by those at the “tippy-top,” to reveal work as being as strange as it really is: to say over and over, things are upside down.

Like a fly that’d rather walk than fly

There are flies that apparently prefer walking to flying.  This makes me smile.

They seem to be attracted to me for some reason.  Less smiley fact, but okay. ;p

I would like to go see lots and lots of art soon. A 9-5 job really can get in the way of living, though I am always grateful for it :)

➜ WORD O.K., by KOOL A.D.

Diggin this so far… not least b/c it’s got my initials in the title ;p