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Nov 08
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The deepest feeling always shows itself in silence; not in silence, but restraint.

Marianne Moore’s line from the poem “Silence:”

(via mfs)

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Belief and Technique for Modern Prose, a list of thirty "essentials." by jack kerouac

evanalexander:


  1. Scribbled secret notebooks, and wild typewritten pages, for your own joy
  2. Submissive to everything, open, listening
  3. Try never get drunk outside your own house
  4. Be in love with your life
  5. Something that you feel will find its own form
  6. Be crazy dumbsaint of the mind
  7. Blow as deep as you want to blow
  8. Write what you want bottomless from bottom of the mind
  9. The unspeakable visions of the individual
  10. No time for poetry but exactly what is
  11. Visionary tics shivering in the chest
  12. In tranced fixation dreaming upon object before you
  13. Remove literary, grammatical and syntactical inhibition
  14. Like Proust be an old teahead of time
  15. Telling the true story of the world in interior monolog
  16. The jewel center of interest is the eye within the eye
  17. Write in recollection and amazement for yourself
  18. Work from pithy middle eye out, swimming in language sea
  19. Accept loss forever
  20. Believe in the holy contour of life
  21. Struggle to sketch the flow that already exists intact in mind
  22. Don’t think of words when you stop but to see picture better
  23. Keep track of every day the date emblazoned in yr morning
  24. No fear or shame in the dignity of yr experience, language & knowledge
  25. Write for the world to read and see yr exact pictures of it
  26. Bookmovie is the movie in words, the visual American form
  27. In praise of Character in the Bleak inhuman Loneliness
  28. Composing wild, undisciplined, pure, coming in from under, crazier the better
  29. You’re a Genius all the time
  30. Writer-Director of Earthly movies Sponsored & Angeled in Heaven
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republicrider:

Kerouac appears in almost all U.S. history texts for high schools, and is to cover the post-World War II poetry mentioned in the Texas Essential Knowledge and Skills (TEKS).Poet and author Jack Kerouac was the “King of the Beats.” The Beats were a group of poets and authors who gave rise and verse to the “Beat Generation.” The word “beat” is short for “beatitude.” Not only do most high school kids struggle with this character from U.S. history — in what should be a very fun section — many high school teachers have only vague understanding of the whole Beat movement.Kerouac wrote On the Road, considered the key book out of the Beats. Wholly apart from its literary merits, which are many, the book is famous for other things. It was written in stream-of-consciousness style, with Kerouac simply sitting down to create the thing in a relatively short creative fury, without the common author conventions of outlines and serious editing. In fact, the entire book was written on one scroll of paper, similar to the old style of paper that used to dominate newspaper newsrooms across America (and which was still used at the Daily Utah Chronicle prior to 1980 — with manual typewriters, mostly Underwoods). In addition, the San Francisco Public Library opened a display of the original manuscript of Jack Kerouac’s “On the Road.”  Kerouac’s manuscript beats all: It is a scroll 120 feet long that Kerouac used to produce his book on a typewriter in an amazing 20-day writing frenzy back in 1951. Kerouac was not just a genius and a guru to a whole generation. He could type like the wind — 120 words a minute, according to legend.  Though only 36 feet of the original scroll will be on display, it comes complete with strikeovers, pencil marks, and scrawls in a style he called “spontaneous prose.” One end of the manuscript is tattered, chewed by a friend’s dog.If students don’t remember a book written on one page, 120 feet long, chewed by a dog, which scroll sold at auction for $2.43 million, they are brain dead. One should not need mnemonic devices to remember such startling bits of history — this is the stuff good history classes are made of.

republicrider:

Kerouac appears in almost all U.S. history texts for high schools, and is to cover the post-World War II poetry mentioned in the Texas Essential Knowledge and Skills (TEKS).

Poet and author Jack Kerouac was the “King of the Beats.” The Beats were a group of poets and authors who gave rise and verse to the “Beat Generation.” The word “beat” is short for “beatitude.” Not only do most high school kids struggle with this character from U.S. history —
in what should be a very fun section — many high school teachers have only vague understanding of the whole Beat movement.

Kerouac wrote On the Road, considered the key book out of the Beats.
Wholly apart from its literary merits, which are many, the book is famous for other things. It was written in stream-of-consciousness style, with Kerouac simply sitting down to create the thing in a relatively short creative fury, without the common author conventions of outlines and serious editing. In fact, the entire book was written on one scroll of paper,
similar to the old style of paper that used to dominate newspaper newsrooms across America (and which was still used at the Daily Utah Chronicle prior to 1980 — with manual typewriters, mostly Underwoods).

In addition, the San Francisco Public Library opened a display of the original manuscript of Jack Kerouac’s “On the Road.”  Kerouac’s manuscript beats all: It is a scroll 120 feet long that Kerouac used to produce his book on a typewriter in an amazing 20-day writing frenzy back in 1951.

Kerouac was not just a genius and a guru to a whole generation. He could type like the wind — 120 words a minute, according to legend.  Though only 36 feet of the original scroll will be on display, it comes complete with strikeovers, pencil marks, and scrawls in a style he called “spontaneous prose.” One end of the manuscript is tattered, chewed by a friend’s dog.

If students don’t remember a book written on one page, 120 feet long, chewed by a dog, which scroll sold at auction for $2.43 million, they are brain dead. One should not need mnemonic devices to remember such startling bits of history — this is the stuff good history classes are made of.

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I was
the girl of the chain letter,
the girl full of talk of coffins and keyholes,
the one of the telephone bills,
the wrinkled photo and the lost connections,
the one who kept saying -
Listen! Listen!
We must never! We must never!

and all those things…

the one
with her eyes half under her coat,
with her large gun-metal blue eyes,
with the thin vein at the bend of her neck
that hummed like a tuning fork,
with her shoulders as bare as a building ,
with her thin foot and her thin toes,
with an old red hook in her mouth,
the mouth that kept bleeding
into the terrible fields of her soul…

love song, anne sexton (via dialogues) (via libraries)
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Reading makes immigrants of us all. It takes us away from home, but more important, it finds homes for us everywhere.
— Jean Rhys (via shacknoir)
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It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.
— LEWIS CARROLL, Alice in Wonderland (via marmaladesky)
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I try to read nonfiction or biography fairly often, but don’t know how I ended up reading two books in a row about former child stars who abused drugs and alcohol and might or might not be bipolar and think that they actually have something interesting to say. (Fisher is at least funny and pokes fun at herself along with others; Gilbert is more earnestly boring.)
I much prefer books written by ordinary people who have done interesting things rather than books written by famous people who have written books because they’re famous. I’m always disappointed by these books and end up liking the authors less…kind of Wizard of Oz-like; they are best left behind the curtain because they are so much less interesting in front of it.

I try to read nonfiction or biography fairly often, but don’t know how I ended up reading two books in a row about former child stars who abused drugs and alcohol and might or might not be bipolar and think that they actually have something interesting to say. (Fisher is at least funny and pokes fun at herself along with others; Gilbert is more earnestly boring.)

I much prefer books written by ordinary people who have done interesting things rather than books written by famous people who have written books because they’re famous. I’m always disappointed by these books and end up liking the authors less…kind of Wizard of Oz-like; they are best left behind the curtain because they are so much less interesting in front of it.

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cradletograve:

don’t judge a book by its cover …

cradletograve:

don’t judge a book by its cover …

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Success is achieved and maintained by those who try and keep trying.
— W. Clement Stone (via kari-shma)
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livedeliberate:
If you haven’t read this book, I recommend it RIGHT NOW. Seriously. FIND IT. READ IT. You will love it. I picked this up yesterday at the school library and finished it off about a half hour ago. I brought it to dinner with us and actually started bawling at a couple parts during dinner. This is just one of those books that hit me in all the right ways and tore my heart apart and pieced it back together by the end. I mean…seriously. I’m actually going to shoot Steve an e-mail and tell him how much the book meant to me. Definitely in the top ten books EVER, and not many books crack that list these days.

livedeliberate:

If you haven’t read this book, I recommend it RIGHT NOW. Seriously. FIND IT. READ IT. You will love it. I picked this up yesterday at the school library and finished it off about a half hour ago. I brought it to dinner with us and actually started bawling at a couple parts during dinner. This is just one of those books that hit me in all the right ways and tore my heart apart and pieced it back together by the end. I mean…seriously. I’m actually going to shoot Steve an e-mail and tell him how much the book meant to me. Definitely in the top ten books EVER, and not many books crack that list these days.

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DREAM/TIME by Deborah Tobola

lastchatwithphontaine:

In the dream, I’m showing someone the grave where
my father is buried. There, under the willow tree.
I turn to look at the person I’m talking to. It is my father.
Which father is my father? The live one standing next to me
or the dead one, buried beneath the willow tree?
They are both my father, of course. What I mean is—
which time is real? The time when he was alive?
Or the time when he’s dead? No, that’s not right.
They are both real time. But which time is the now?
Am I standing with my living father, dreaming of
a time after he dies? Or am I looking at my father’s grave,
dreaming of a time when he was alive? I can’t decide.
I don’t know which time is now or if the times
could somehow co-exist. You know, it’s because
I’m dreaming. What are you still doing here?
he asks me. I think he’s asking why I’m still living
in my small desert town. I can’t leave—I love my family
too much,
I say. They are not far away—a few miles,
a few hours, a half-a-day away. You need to get your work
out into the world,
he replies. A few weeks later,

driving home, I stop at the red sign midway between
the cemetery and my house. I’m not thinking about
the dream. Probably, I’m fooling with the radio. I decide this later,
because my neck is not broken. Because I do not brace
for the impact. I never see it coming. Cranked-up tow truck
doing 60 rear-ends my car, catapulting it across
the intersection. On the other side, I hit a Joshua tree and
a telephone pole and then the yellow Pontiac
bursts into flame, a cactus blossom. I don’t remember any of this.
My clock stops. I lose the crash time, the driver who hit me
pulling me out time, the cops searching the desert
for the body of my son time, the ambulance ride time.
In the hospital, after a few hours, I get time back. Once I can
say my name, what day it is, they send me home,
where I am awakened every hour, asked the same questions,
beginning with Who are you?
By morning, I realize that when
my father said here, he meant earth.
You want to know if the cops found my son’s body.
But maybe he wasn’t with me in the car.
Maybe I couldn’t remember if he was with me or not.
Maybe I’m standing next to him now, asking him what
he is still doing here, urging him to get his work done.

from Rattle #30, Winter 2008
Rattle Poetry Prize Honorable Mention

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x-snapshots:

It’s a book.
(I just find the cover cool.)

x-snapshots:

It’s a book.

(I just find the cover cool.)

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theansweris42x:  library run!

theansweris42x:  library run!

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bilbo:
Although an introduction to a physical exhibit, the eight available images are nicely done and the zoom feature works well. The Bayerische Staatsbbliothek has an unusually extensive collection of incunabula.

bilbo:

Although an introduction to a physical exhibit, the eight available images are nicely done and the zoom feature works well. The Bayerische Staatsbbliothek has an unusually extensive collection of incunabula.