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You want to fast forward to question 4 (about 2 minutes in) -- "In your most theatrical voice, recite these instructions on how to change a flat tire." Priceless.


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Let yourself be silently drawn
by the stronger pull of what you really love.


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"Fate has always tried to make me love or want things just so that it could show me, on the very next day, that I didn’t have and could never have them."

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"What is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the words I have read in my life."

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We don’t need

a list of rights and wrongs,

tables of do’s and don’ts; we need

books, time, and silence. “Thou shalt not”


is soon forgotten, but “Once upon a time” lasts forever.



— philip pullman —
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'In 2004, The New York Times wrote an article about the loneliest whale in the world. Scientists have been tracking her since 1992 and they discovered the problem:

She isn’t like any other baleen whale. Unlike all other whales, she doesn’t have friends. She doesn’t have a family. She doesn’t belong to any tribe, pack or gang. She doesn’t have a lover. She never had one. Her songs come in groups of two to six calls, lasting for five to six seconds each. But her voice is unlike any other baleen whale. It is unique—while the rest of her kind communicate between 12 and 25hz, she sings at 52hz. You see, that’s precisely the problem. No other whales can hear her. Every one of her desperate calls to communicate remains unanswered. Each cry ignored. And, with every lonely song, she becomes sadder and more frustrated, her notes going deeper in despair as the years go by.

Just imagine that massive mammal, floating alone and singing—too big to connect with any of the beings it passes, feeling paradoxically small in the vast stretches of empty, open ocean.'

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Chapter I
I walk down the street
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in
I am lost . . . I am helpless
It isn't my fault
It takes forever to find a way out.

Chapter II
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I pretend I don’t see it.
I fall in again.
I can’t believe I am in the same place.
But, it isn’t my fault.
It still takes a long time to get out.

Chapter III
I walk down the same street
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in . . . it’s a habit.
My eyes are open. I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.

Chapter IV
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.

Chapter V
I walk down another street
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our bacon who art in heaven

hallowed be thy name

thy fat be fried

thy slices wide

on earth as it is in my mouth

give us this day our daily servings

and forgive us our diets

as we forgive those who diet before us

and lead us not into the health food section

but deliver us from tofu

for thine is the kingdom

and the power and the glory

for ever and ever

amen

eternalmists: (bleed into me)

I am eternally, devastatingly romantic, and I thought people would see it because “romantic” doesn’t mean “sugary”. It’s dark and tormented - the furor of passion, the despair of an idealism that you can’t attain.

Catherine Breillat

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Wild dogs that commute from suburbs to scavenge in city
The clever canines board the Tube each morning. After a hard day scavenging and begging on the streets, they hop back on the train and return to the suburbs where they spend the night.

Experts studying the dogs say they even work together to make sure they get off at the right stop — after learning to judge the length of time they need to spend on the train. The mutts choose the quietest carriages at the front and back of the train. They have also developed tactics to hustle humans into giving them more food on the streets of Moscow. Dr Poiarkov told how the dogs like to play during their daily commute. He said: “They jump on the train seconds before the doors shut, risking their tails getting jammed. They do it for fun. And sometimes they fall asleep and get off at the wrong stop.” The dogs have learned to use traffic lights to cross the road safely, said Dr Poiarkov. And they use cunning tactics to obtain tasty morsels of shawarma, a kebab-like snack popular in Moscow.

eternalmists: (firsts)

“Once a little boy sent me a charming card with a little drawing on it. I loved it. I answer all my children’s letters — sometimes very hastily — but this one I lingered over. I sent him a card and I drew a picture of a Wild Thing on it. I wrote, “Dear Jim: I loved your card.” Then I got a letter back from his mother and she said, “Jim loved your card so much he ate it.” That to me was one of the highest compliments I’ve ever received. He didn’t care that it was an original Maurice Sendak drawing or anything. He saw it, he loved it, he ate it.”

Maurice Sendak
eternalmists: (give me stars)
WORD FOG

Words, even if they come from the soul, hide the soul,
as fog rising off the sea covers the sea,
the coast, the fish, the pearls.

It is noble work to build philosophical discourses,
but they do block out the sun of truth.

See God's qualities as an ocean.
This world is foam on the purity of that.
Brush it away and look through the alphabet to essence,
as you do the hair covering your beloved's eyes.

Here is the mystery:
This intricate, astonishing world is proof
of God's presence even as it covers the beauty.

One flake from the wall of a gold mine
does not give much idea what it is like
when the sun shines down inside
and turns the air and the workers golden.
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"Her skin is white cloth,

and she’s all sewn apart
and she has many colored pins
sticking out of her heart.

She has many different zombies
who are deeply in her trance.
She even has a zombie
who was originally from France.

But she knows she has a curse on her,
a curse she cannot win.
For if someone gets
too close to her,

the pins stick farther in."

  - - Tim Burton - -
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The Drunkards and the Tavern
I'm drunk and you're insane, who's going to lead us home?
How many times did they say,
"Drink just a little, only two or three at most"?

In this city no one I see is conscious;
one is worse off than the next, frenzied and insane.

Dear one, come to the tavern of ruin
and experience the pleasures of the soul.
What happiness can there be apart
from this intimate conversation
with the Beloved, the Soul of souls?

In every corner there are drunkards, arm in arm,
while the Server pours the wine
from a royal decanter in every particle of being.

You belong to the tavern: your income is wine,
and wine is all you ever buy.
Don't give even a second away
to the concerns of the merely sober.

O lute player, are you more drunk, or am I?
In the presence of one as drunk as you, my magic is a myth.

When I went outside the house,
some drunk approached me,
and in his eyes I saw
hundreds of hidden gardens and sanctuaries.

Like a ship without an anchor,
he rocked this way and that.

Hundreds of intellectuals and wise men
could die from a taste of his yearning.

I asked, "Where are you from?"
He laughed and said, "O soul,
half of me is from Turkestan and half from Farghana.

Half of me is water and mud, half heart and soul;
half of me is the ocean's shore, half is all pearl."

"Be my friend," I pleaded. "I'm one of your family."
"I know the difference between family and outsiders."

I've neither a heart nor a turban,
and here in this house of hangovers
my breast is filled with unspoken words.
Shall I try to explain or not?

Have I lived among the lame for so long
that I've begun to limp myself?
And yet no slap of pain could disturb
a drunkenness like this.

Listen, can you hear a wail
arising from the pillar of grief?
Shams al-Haqq of Tabriz, where are you now,
after all the mischief you've stirred in our hearts?

- translation by Kabir Helmenski

link

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