The most submissive thing in the world can ride roughshod over the hardest in the world – that which is without substance entering that which has no crevices.
That is why I know the benefit of resorting to no action. The teaching that uses no words, the benefit of resorting to no action, these are beyond the understanding of all but a very few in the world.
Lao Tse, Book 2, XLIII
(Translation D.C. Lau Penguin1963)
This spring I felt so lucky and blessed. A little sparrow came and sat in my hand and I fed it bread crumbs from my thumb. The tiny bird chewed away, looking at me as we where eternal friends, and it flew away. Minutes went by returning with his wife the 2 teeny sparrows chewed through my hand to my heart. Eventually the small beats flew away. Leaving my heart full of joy. Will I ever meet my friends again?
I enjoy to have books recommended to me by people I do not necessarily know or even fundamentally agree whit. Sometimes what’s recommended is rubbish and sometimes I am pretty amassed to find out what I have been missing in the world of books.
When I was surfing the english book shelves in the main public library in Copenhagen, prompted in my mind by my own overwhelming ignorance of english written literature, reaching the letter F, I stumbled into a book of an to me unknown writer. To my luck the book was a laminated paperback, so I was able to read the recommendations and quotes from Canongate Books advertising effort on the back side. The publisher had among others picked a quote from the english newspaper Guardian which read: “This is man who could give Conrad a run at writing the perfect sentence… Room will now have to be made for Faber alongside Alasdair Gray, James Kelman, Irwine Welsh and A.L. Kenndy.” So this book went to the digital self-checkout-point in the library and followed me home.
I just finished Michel Faber’s “The Courage Consort” and I liked it. A wonderful tour of fucked up postmodern living in the 21. century, written whit great psychological insight in a wonderful shaped natural language with a refined sense of poetry, irony and humor.
Some people think reading books are a waste of time compared to real life! And they are not entirely wrong, but in the same time they are missing out on the subtle qualities of language, the human mind and simply the unknown. Sometimes you should allow yourself to be dazzled by the lengthy words of another spirit. When the conversation takes place inside your own head you somehow listen more carefully..
By the way have you read a book recently that you want to recommend?
Going left.. No! Driving right.. No! Thinking of flying straight!
When I born, I black,
When I grow up, I black,
When I go in sun, I black,
When I cold, I black,
When I scared, I black,
When I sick, I black,
And when I die, I still black.
You white folks….
When you born, you pink,
When you grow up, you white,
When you go in sun, you red,
When you cold, you blue,
When you scared, you yellow,
When you sick, you green,
When you bruised, you purple,
And when you die, you gray!
So who you calling colored?
(unknown author)
TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water’d heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?
Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?
The Tiger by Willam Blake 1757-1827
Ref.: bartleby.com
Dear spirits of the world,
This beautiful piece of William Blake was once again brought to my attention by a dazzling soul. Burn Tiger, Tiger burn.. let the flames of animal instinct play in tribute to the forces of heaven..
Love Thomas
We where somewhere around Barstow on the edge of the dessert when the drugs began to take hold. I remember saying something like “I feel a bit lightheaded; maybe you should drive…” And suddenly there was a terrible roar all around us and the sky was full of what looked like huge bats, all swooping and screeching and diving around the car, which was going about a hundred miles an hour with the top down to Las Vegas. And a voice was screaming: “Holy Jesus! What are these goddamn animals?”
The Author of the brilliant psychedelic classic “Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas” Hunter S. Thompson died today.
I vividly remember the journey into Hunter S. Thompsons land of drugs and madness. The atmosphere was cool and fogy. My mind where soon bending and twisting just in order to keep up with the events in the book. Sentences like “The trunk of the car looked like a mobile police narcotics lab.” where after a short while just describing the ordinary. After reading Hunter S. Thompson I felt exhilarated; and in great need of some kind of fix. Sadly I ended up with an emotional cold turkey. But dear reader, surely it’s worthwhile literary acid trip. Peace out brother.
Hunter S Thompson commits suicide BBC 21 February 2005
