09 4 / 2013
Oh Yes
there are worse things than
being alone
but it often takes decades
to realize this
and most often
when you do
it’s too late
and there’s nothing worse
than
too late.
- Charles Bukowski
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23 3 / 2013
"Originally, he [Ike Barinholtz] wanted to be a politician but was derailed by pot, among other things. “I never smoked marijuana in high school because I wanted to be president and I’d remember Bill Clinton had a hell of a time saying that he didn’t inhale,” Barinholtz says. He had a change of heart when he began attending Boston University. “I was disaffected in college, and I started smoking pot, and it was like, ‘Oh, God. I love pot. It’s great.’ Pot and responsibility don’t really go hand in hand, and I didn’t like the classes I was taking … I got kicked out/dropped out. Mutual agreement."
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17 3 / 2013
"When I see a man anxious, I say, “What does this man want? If he did not want something which is not in his power, how could he be anxious?” For this reason a lute player when he is singing by himself has no anxiety, but when he enters the theatre, he is anxious even if he has a good voice and plays well on the lute; for he not only wishes to sing well, but also to obtain applause: but this is not in his power."
13 1 / 2013
Dutch designer creates Goedzak, a garbage bag designed to alert passerby of reusable items that might be worth snagging before the trash collector comes. | via GOOD
11 1 / 2013
My life does not currently consist of enough ridiculous hilarity, so I’m trying to bring this back.
11 1 / 2013
“All will be well, you can ask me how, but only time will tell”
Life does what it wants. It’s never terribly different day by day. Sleep, wake, eat, speak, walk, work. Over and over. What makes it hard? What makes it worth it? It’s not simply friends, love, family. It’s connection. Deep, permanent, committed or exhilarating, fleeting, momentary. Energy passing from heart to heart. Risk of pain. Vulnerability. We are always alone. Not physically. But in our thoughts, in our heads, in our worlds. It’s only ever you, in the cave, stalactites and stalagmites. Dripping thoughts, streaming through your being. Schools of fish, they make sense together in your ocean. But as they escape your lips they are lost in the sea of life. Swim free, little fish. Perhaps you will find a kindred ear…
04 1 / 2013
"We’re born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we’re not alone."
01 1 / 2013
To Be of Use
The people I love the best
jump into work head first
without dallying in the shallows
and swim off with sure strokes almost out of sight.
They seem to become natives of that element,
the black sleek heads of seals
bouncing like half submerged balls.
I love people who harness themselves, an ox to a heavy cart,
who pull like water buffalo, with massive patience,
who strain in the mud and the muck to move things forward,
who do what has to be done, again and again.
I want to be with people who submerge
in the task, who go into the fields to harvest
and work in a row and pass the bags along,
who stand in the line and haul in their places,
who are not parlor generals and field deserters
but move in a common rhythm
when the food must come in or the fire be put out.
The work of the world is common as mud.
Botched, it smears the hands, crumbles to dust.
But the thing worth doing well done
has a shape that satisfies, clean and evident.
Greek amphoras for wine or oil,
Hopi vases that held corn, are put in museums
but you know they were made to be used.
The pitcher cries for water to carry
and a person for work that is real.
By Marge Piercy | viasmartgirlsattheparty
(Source: sgatp.net)
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