When the soul wishes to experience something she throws an image of the experience out before her and enters into her own image.
—MEISTER ECKHART
___
So God created man is his own image, in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them.
God created man WITH his image . . .
—RASHI on Genesis 1:27
___
Art does not reproduce the visible, rather it makes visible.
___
Making your unknown known is the important thing.
As if by magic. There is obvious joy—even a trace of mystical awe— contained in every yard of steel, every square foot of stone, every strip of chrome nickel plating laid down . . .
This magnificent edifice, standing so firmly on its rectangular block of earth carved from the foursquare grid, thrusting upward in its serried slabs and runnels, is a living, beating monument to the interconnectedness of things—a continuous celebration, we might say, to the thingliness of things, the world conceived and experienced as equipment. This is a dream building, but not via the bucolic vision of interwoven nature found in the Thoreauvian imagination, that residue of pure adolescent romanticism; rather, this dream embraces the grown-up urban awareness that pipes and lines and wire, hidden but necessary, sustain the spaces and sites of our aspiration. The building argues that technology is redeemed through itself; it opens up a world, a revelation—perhaps even a kind of salvation.
MARK KINGWELL, Nearest Thing to Heaven: The Empire State Building and American Dreams (2006, Yale University Press)
The Empire State Building, New York City
Categories: Read. · icon
Tagged: awe, dreams, edifice, empire, size
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy! Holy!
The world is holy! The soul is holy! The skin is holy!
The nose is holy! The tongue and cock and hand
and asshole holy!
Everything is holy! everybody’s holy! everywhere is
holy! everyday is in eternity! Everyman’s an
angel!
The bum’s as holy as the seraphim! the madman is
holy as you my soul are holy!
The typewriter is holy the poem is holy the voice is
holy the hearers are holy the ecstasy is holy!
Holy Peter holy Allen holy Solomon holy Lucien holy
Kerouac holy Huncke holy Burroughs holy Cas-
sady holy the unknown buggered and suffering
beggars holy the hideous human angels!
Holy my mother in the insane asylum! Holy the cocks
of the grandfathers of Kansas!
Holy the groaning saxophone! Holy the bop
apocalypse! Holy the jazzbands marijuana
hipsters peace & junk & drums!
Holy the solitudes of skyscrapers and pavements! Holy
the cafeterias filled with the millions! Holy the
mysterious rivers of tears under the streets!
Holy the lone juggernaut! Holy the vast lamb of the
middle class! Holy the crazy shepherds of rebell-
ion! Who digs Los Angeles IS Los Angeles!
Holy New York Holy San Francisco Holy Peoria &
Seattle Holy Paris Holy Tangiers Holy Moscow
Holy Istanbul!
Holy time in eternity holy eternity in time holy the
clocks in space holy the fourth dimension holy
the fifth International holy the Angel in Moloch!
Holy the sea holy the desert holy the railroad holy the
locomotive holy the visions holy the hallucina-
tions holy the miracles holy the eyeball holy the
abyss!
Holy forgiveness! mercy! charity! faith! Holy! Ours!
bodies! suffering! magnanimity!
Holy the supernatural extra brilliant intelligent
kindness of the soul!
ALLEN GINSBERG, Howl and Other Poems (1956, City Lights Books)
Tooooooo is a preposition. To is a preposition. Commmmmme is a verb. To is a preposition. Come is a verb. To is a preposition. Come is a verb, the verb intransitive. To come. To come. . . . It’s been like a big drum solo. To come to come, come too come too, to come to come uh uh uh uh uh um um um um um uh uh uh uh uh uh—TO COME! TO COME! TO COME! TO COME! Did you come? Did you come? Good. Did you come good? Did you come good? Did you come? Good. To. Come. To. Come—Didyoucomegood? Didyoucomegooddidyoucomegood?
A boy spends more time looking at his boner
Than looking at his face in the mirror,
Enjoys playing with his newsprungcock
More than any other part of his body,
More than reading or listening to music,
More than smoking grass or watching TV,
Just to get off by himself and consult
His miraculous oracle—he is familiar
With its every visage from limp to stiff,
From shrunk from swimming to super-bloated
From many a jackoff holdoff brink, amazing!
What is more fun, more mystical, magical,
Meaningful than those secret chosen moments
Alone with your newgrown pubertydick—
Just you and it! You know how they say
dog is a man’s bestfriend?
A boy’s cock is a boy’s bestfriend.
A whole night together—a boy delighting
In his beautiful, boundless, insatiable,
Inquisitive, playful, mischievous prick.
ANTLER, from The Badboy Book of Erotic Poetry, David Laurents, Editor
Photo: “ricky25″
Categories: Read. · omfg · play · pretty · yum
Tagged: awe, beauty, body, boner, cock, delight, magical, marvel
Dear White Fella
When I am born I’m black
When I grow up I’m black
When I am sick I’m black
When I go out ina sun I’m black
When I git cold I’m black
When I git scared I’m black
And when I die I’m still black.
But you white fella
When you’re born you’re pink
When you grow up you’re white
When you get sick you’re green
When go out ina sun you go red
When you git cold you go blue
When you git scared you’re yellow
And when you die you’re grey
And you got the cheek to call me coloured?
SAROJA SUBBIAH
Colored People; Blacklash? – Henry Louis Gates, Jr.
Photo: “cutejam”
Categories: Current · Read.
Tagged: create, encourage, engage, fund, learn, mentor, volunteer, vote
how sometimes only an image,
a surface compels us:*
. . . I have for hours
believed—without judgment, without condemnation—
that in each body, however obscured or recast,
is the divine body—common, habitable—
the way in a field of sunflowers
you can see every bloom’s
the multiple expression
of a single shining idea,
which is the face hammered into joy.
MARK DOTY, from Homo Will Not Inherit
*from To Cavafy
Categories: Read. · yum
Tagged: body, desire, divine, joy, surface
For lovers, the only teaching is the beauty of the Beloved:
the only book and lecture is the Face.*
___
I would love to kiss you.
The price of kissing is your life.
Now my loving is running toward my life shouting,
What a bargain, let’s buy it.
—FURUZANFAR #388
___
*For lovers, the only teaching is the beauty of the Beloved:
the only book and lecture is the Face.
Outwardly they are silent,
but their penetrating remembrance rises
to the high throne of their Friend.
Their only lesson is enthusiasm, whirling, and trembling,
not the minor details of law.
—MATHNAWI III, 3847-3819, “The Only Teaching” (translated by Kabir Helminski and Camille Helminski)
___
The real work of religion is permanent astonishment.
By that I don’t mean in astonishment turning your back on Him—
I mean: blazing in blind ecstasy, drowned in God and drunk on
Love.
RUMI, from “Can Anyone Really Describe” (translated by Andrew Harvey)
Categories: Read. · omfg · play · yum
Tagged: beauty, beloved, kiss
JEFF KOONS on the Roof through Oct. 26 at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.
JEFF KOONS, Balloon Dog (Yellow) Photo: NYTimes
Categories: Current · play
Tagged: balloons, Koons, my birthday
|
