"What is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life."
— Walt Whitman, “Song of Myself” (via lavielivre)
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
making it
by La Vie Livre
making it by Charles Bukowski
Read out loud by me.I enjoyed reading Neruda’s poem out loud to you all so much last week that I decided to make an audio version of me reading “making it” by Charles Bukowski, one of my favorite poems. I would have made a video again, but I can’t seem to make the audio and video sync on my Mac. Blerg.
The music in the background is track no.1 “Briony” from the Atonement motion picture soundtrack.
February 18th
12:43
12:43
Through a window
I watch, windows are
For watching -
Square pieces of life
Ever changing.
Donavan Holtz, “Windows”
Photo taken with my Pentax K1000 and Portra 400VC.
February 12th
17:26
17:26
Poetry and dreams.
"i can be
alone by myself
i was
lonely alone
now i’m lonely
with you
something is wrong
there are flies
everywhere
i go"
alone by myself
i was
lonely alone
now i’m lonely
with you
something is wrong
there are flies
everywhere
i go"
"But I don’t want comfort. I want God, I want poetry, I want real danger, I want freedom, I want goodness. I want sin."
— Brave New World by Aldous Huxley (via quote-book)
May 5th
16:22
16:22
"Mientras escribo estoy ausente
y cuando vuelvo ya he partido:
voy a ver si a las otras gentes
les pasa lo que a mí me pasa,
si son tantos como soy yo,
si se parecen a sí mismos
y cuando lo haya averiguado
voy a aprender tan bien las cosas
que para explicar mis problemas
les hablaré de geografía."
y cuando vuelvo ya he partido:
voy a ver si a las otras gentes
les pasa lo que a mí me pasa,
si son tantos como soy yo,
si se parecen a sí mismos
y cuando lo haya averiguado
voy a aprender tan bien las cosas
que para explicar mis problemas
les hablaré de geografía."
— From “Muchos somos” by Pablo Neruda
April 29th
22:55
22:55
"Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air."
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air."
— Sylvia Plath
"you said Is
there anything which
is dead or alive more beautiful
than my body,to have in your fingers
(trembling ever so little)?
Looking into
your eyes Nothing,i said,except the
air of spring smelling of never and forever.
….and through the lattice which moved as
if a hand is touched by a
hand(which
moved as though
fingers touch a girl’s
breast,
lightly)
Do you believe in always,the wind
said to the rain
I am too busy with
my flowers to believe,the rain answered"
there anything which
is dead or alive more beautiful
than my body,to have in your fingers
(trembling ever so little)?
Looking into
your eyes Nothing,i said,except the
air of spring smelling of never and forever.
….and through the lattice which moved as
if a hand is touched by a
hand(which
moved as though
fingers touch a girl’s
breast,
lightly)
Do you believe in always,the wind
said to the rain
I am too busy with
my flowers to believe,the rain answered"
— (via eecummings) (via quote-book)
"You ask me why I spend my life writing?
Do I find entertainment?
Is it worthwhile?
Above all, does it pay?
If not, then, is there a reason? …
I write only because
There is a voice within me
That will not be still."
Do I find entertainment?
Is it worthwhile?
Above all, does it pay?
If not, then, is there a reason? …
I write only because
There is a voice within me
That will not be still."
"I’d rather learn from one bird how to sing than to teach ten thousand stars how not to dance."
— e. e. cummings (via quote-book)
March 16th
22:58
22:58
"I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride; so I love you because I know no other way."
— Pablo Neruda, Sonnet XVII
March 13th
21:47
21:47
Give me the splendid sun by Walt Whitman
Verse 2:
Keep your splendid, silent sun;
Keep your woods, O Nature, and the quiet places by the woods;
Keep your fields of clover and timothy, and your corn-fields and orchards;
Keep the blossoming buckwheat fields, where the Ninth-month bees hum;
Give me faces and streets! give me these phantoms incessant and endless along the trottoirs!
Give me interminable eyes! give me women! give me comrades and lovers by the thousand!
Let me see new ones every day! let me hold new ones by the hand every day!
Give me such shows! give me the streets of Manhattan!
Give me Broadway, with the soldiers marching—give me the sound of the trumpets and drums!
(The soldiers in companies or regiments—some, starting away, flush’d and reckless; Some, their time up, returning, with thinn’d ranks—young, yet very old, worn, marching, noticing nothing;)
Give me the shores and the wharves heavy-fringed with the black ships!
O such for me! O an intense life! O full to repletion, and varied!
The life of the theatre, bar-room, huge hotel, for me!
The saloon of the steamer! the crowded excursion for me! the torch-light procession!
The dense brigade, bound for the war, with high piled military wagons following;
People, endless, streaming, with strong voices, passions, pageants;
Manhattan streets, with their powerful throbs, with the beating drums, as now;
The endless and noisy chorus, the rustle and clank of muskets, (even the sight of the wounded;)
Manhattan crowds, with their turbulent musical chorus—with varied chorus, and light of the sparkling eyes;
Manhattan faces and eyes forever for me.
