So if I asked you about art you could give me the skinny on every art book ever written...Michelangelo? You know a lot about him I bet. Life's work, criticisms, political aspirations. But you couldn't tell me what it smells like in the Sistine Chapel. You've never stood there and looked up at that beautiful ceiling. And if I asked you about women I'm sure you could give me a syllabus of your personal favorites, and maybe you've been laid a few times too. But you couldn't tell me how it feels to wake up next to a woman and be truly happy. If I asked you about war you could refer me to a bevy of fictional and non-fictional material, but you've never been in one. You've never held your best friend's head in your lap and watched him draw his last breath, looking to you for help. And if I asked you about love I'd get a sonnet, but you've never looked at a woman and been truly vulnerable. Known that someone could kill you with a look. That someone could rescue you from grief. That God had put an angel on Earth just for you. And you wouldn't know how it felt to be her angel. To have the love be there for her forever. Through anything, through cancer. You wouldn't know about sleeping sitting up in a hospital room for two months holding her hand and not leaving because the doctors could see in your eyes that the term 'visiting hours' didn't apply to you. And you wouldn't know about real loss, because that only occurs when you lose something you love more than yourself, and you've never dared to love anything that much. I look at you and I don't see an intelligent confident man, I don't see a peer, and I don't see my equal. I see a boy. Nobody could possibly understand you, right Will? Yet you presume to know so much about me because of a painting you saw. You must know everything about me. You're an orphan, right? Do you think I would presume to know the first thing about who you are because I read 'Oliver Twist?' And I don't buy the argument that you don't want to be here, because I think you like all the attention you're getting. Personally, I don't care. There's nothing you can tell me that I can't read somewhere else. Unless we talk about your life. But you won't do that. Maybe you're afraid of what you might say.
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If I can stop one heart from breaking I shall not live in vain If I can ease on Life the Aching Or cool one pain Or help one fainting Robin Unto his Nest again I shall not live in Vain.
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Dr. Joel Fleischman in nature. Not exactly the man you knew. He couldn't see past the Hudson River if he tried. He liked his fish smoked or preferable hand sliced from Zabars on a sliced bagel served with onions. Nature, to him, was an irritant. Birds didn't sing, they woke him up. A body of water wasn't life, it was a golf hazard..
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Although every organized patriarchal religion works overtime to contribute its own brand of misogyny to the myth of woman-hate, woman-fear, and woman-evil, the Roman Catholic Church also carries the immense power of very directly affecting women's lives everywhere by its stand against birth control and abortion, and by its use of skillful and wealthy lobbies to prevent legislative change. It is an obscenity -- an all-male hierarchy, celibate or not, that presumes to rule on the lives and bodies of millions of women.
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If I can stop one Heart from breaking I shall not live in vain If I can ease one Life the Aching, or cool one Pain, Or help one fainting Robin into his Nest again, I shall not live in Vain.
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Spring has sprung. We're free at last, people. Free at last. Thank you mother nature, we're free. Time to toss open that metaphysical window and check out that psychic landscape. See lots of possibilities budding out there. Time to hoe those rows, feed that seed. Pretty soon you get a garden.
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The Eagle wasn't always the Eagle. The Eagle, before he became the Eagle, was Yucatangee, the Talker. Yucatangee talked and talked. It talked so much it heard only itself. Not the river, not the wind, not even the Wolf. The Raven came and said The Wolf is hungry. If you stop talking, you'll hear him. The wind too. And when you hear the wind, you'll fly. So he stopped talking. And became its nature, the Eagle. The Eagle soared, and its flight said all it needed to say.
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Repetition is the death of art.
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His golf bag does not contain a full set of irons.
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Ladies and gentlemen, today we're here to honor electricity, the charge that charges everything from those electrons snapping in our brain to our father the sun. What's the sun It's kind of like a brain. Electromagnetic field, solar flares sparking back and forth from those nerve cells. We're all one, folks, giant blobs of electricity, all of us. Positive & negative, electromagnetic fields just circling each other. Positive, negative, north, south, male and female. Looking for that electric moment. Magnet to magnet, opposites attract.
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If I can stop one Heart from breaking
I shall not live in vain
If I can ease one Life the Aching,
or cool one Pain,
Or help one fainting Robin
into his Nest again,
I shall not live in Vain.
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Anyone who uses the phrase 'easy as taking candy from a baby' has never tried taking candy from a baby.
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Ah, yes, divorce...from the Latin word meaning to rip out a man's genitals through his wallet
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You think a man is a man cause he wears team colors and guzzles beer in front of the tube Can't you see, boys, the sands of time are dribbling through the hourglass
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You've got your phenomenon on one hand. Concrete and knowable. On the other hand you've got the incomprehensible. You call it God, but to me, God or no, it remains just that, the unknowable.
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Time is just something that we assign. You know, past, present, it's just all arbitrary. Most Native Americans, they don't think of time as linear in time, out of time, I never have enough time, circular time, the Stevens wheel. All moments are happening all the time.
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I am...blood. That primordial ooze. Not out there, listeners, in here. Inside this skin we wear, it only lets us think we're something else-- nice clean brains, little talking computers running around in the pursuit of happiness. We pierce this skin and what do we see Warm ooze, protoplasm churning and jesting, defecating, pulsating, life, death.
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Minstrel: [singing] Bravely bold Sir Robin, rode forth from Camelot. He was not afraid to die, oh brave Sir Robin. He was not at all afraid to be killed in nasty ways, brave, brave, brave, brave Sir Robin. He was not in the least bit scared to being mashed into a pulp, or to have his eyes gouged out, and his elbows broken. To have his knee caps split, and his body burned away, and his limbs all hacked and mangled, brave Sir Robin. His head smashed in and heart cut out, and his liver removed, and his bowels unplugged, and his nostrils ripped and his bottom burned off and his penis...
Sir Robin: THAT'S, that's quite enough, Minstrel.
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That's the whole thing with the hog. It's you and 80 wild horses under your butt, just sitting on 10 square inches where the rubber meets the road. That hurricane gale wind whipping you in the face, leaning into a curve you can feel that gravity wanting to suck you down into it and what do you do Give it a little more gas. Pure centrifugal force. You can see yourself hurtling ass end over teakettle into oblivion.
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A Robin Redbreast in a cage, Puts all Heaven in a Rage.
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I went from not knowing if I am Batman or Robin, to feeling pretty good at the end of the game, to every day getting better in my head. And this game was really good.
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Marijuana enhances many things, colors, flavors, sensations, but you are certainly not f**king empowered. When you're stoned, you're lucky if you can find your own goddamn feet. The only way it's a performance-enhancing drug is if there's a big f**king Hershey bar at the end of the run. Then you'll be like a Swiss ski jumper going, I'm there!
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Thoreau once said most men lead lives of quiet desperation... Don't be resigned to that. LIVE LIFE!
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One robin caged and Heaven's mad! But when to just that one you add vast flocks of battered battery birds and half starved calves in crated herds and multitudes of tethered sows in narrow stalls - these horrors rouse all Heaven to a rage so wild it's former rage seems a wonderous mild.
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Blinkin: Oh if only your mother were here. Robin: She's dead? Blinkin: Oh, she died of phemonia while,while you were away. Robin: My brothers? Blinkin: Killed by the plague Robin: My dog Pongo? Blinkin: Hit by a carriage. Robin: My goldfish Goldie? Blinkin: Eaten by the cat. Robin: My cat? Blinkin: Choked on the goldfish. Oh isn't it great to be home, master Robin?
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I have seen men fly bombers with their faces half- blown away. You're going to allow a few algebra formulas to ground you
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For people to judge a man's worth and his very manhood according to the way he feels about sport, and not to recognize it for the piddly, inconsequential goings on that it really is...
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My masculinity isn't hinged on whether or not I knit.
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It has this scope that's outrageous, but yet at the core, these very intimate scenes, so that alone is interesting.
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Only in their dreams can men be truly free. Twas always thus and always thus will be.
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