The South African artist William Kentridge speaks to this type of certainty: 'To say that one needs art, or politics, that incorporate ambiguity and contradiction is not to say that one then stops rec...
I’m fast becoming the one who leaves things behind,
Here's a secret: Everyone, if they live long enough, will lose their way at some point. You will lose your way, you will wake up one morning and find yourself lost. This is a hard, simple truth. If it...
If you're going to write about someone's life, you don't just use them for wallpaper. You have to honor and respect that life.
We fill the nothing with suns,line them up,swallow sap, swallowfield, drop by drop, each stema pump. Rose to rose to rose torose to rose to rose to rose, calyx &anther, all summer gone.
What you fear your whole life comes to pass. You end up living toward it, you spend your life running from it but your foot is nailed to the sidewalk. You circle around it until you wear yourself own.
Many fathers are gone. Some leave, some are left. Some return, unknown and hungry. Only the dog remembers.
I have plenty of places to go, but no place to be.
And though he knew it was only the whiskey talking, he also knew that the whiskey talked daily.
You know the way Jesus rips open his shirt to show us his heart, all flaming and thorny,
Read as much as you can. Write only when you feel the inner need to do so. And don’t ever rush into print.
I’m riding beside my best friend, and I tell him, in the same offhand tone my mother had used, That’s my grandfather’s funeral, and he looks at me as if I’m insane.
Note: The phrase had many meanings in Jesus' time, one of which was a son born without a father, which, by all accounts, Jesus was. Just as the phrase
OUT of that moment Jesus was nailed to his cross flowed our attempts to represent it, to create a narrative that could contain it. Yet the body, hanging there, is still, simply, terrible. Caravaggio’s...
Water can be a symbol of purification, to stand naked before someone a sign of truth, of nothing to hide. - Nick Flynn
Who doesn't want to just disappear, at some point in the day, in a year, to just step off the map and float?
If not for the rats you could crawl beneath a bush. A bush. A bench. The alliterative universe. Rats too can pass through that needle's eye to enter heaven. . . . This box held a refrigerator, the ref...
His impunity thrills me, I mistake it for fearlessness, though years later he will admit to being afraid all the time.
Inside us, a flower taken whole,a field built inside.
Everything he did, as long as you stayed in the village, whether shouting obscenities at passing children or sleeping in the cemetery, all would be remembered when they looked at you, they would say t...