*Winter is the gun in the mouth that, except for the fraction in luck, sucks the hot lead exploding into the brain back to the muzzle, into the barrel, back to the chamber, stilling, chilling, re-mating the bullet with cold brass and unignited powder.
File under talking to myself, letting you listen.
And as Tiny Tim didn’t say, Godot bless us everyone.
Odilon Redon, Guardian Spirit of the Waters, 1878
A photo a day keeps the Doctor in play.
If you address yourself to an audience, you accept from the outset the basic premises that unite the audience. You put on the audience, repeating cliches familiar to it. But artists don’t address themselves to audiences: they create audiences. The artist talks to himself out loud. If what he has to say is significant, others will hear and are affected.
The trouble with knowing what to say and saying it clearly and fully is that clear speaking is generally obsolete thinking. Clear statement is like an art object. It is the afterlife of the process which called it into being.
A clear idea is therefore another name for little idea.
How can I begin anything new with all of yesterday in me?
Collage by Sylvia Plath