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That’s all you can ever do in life: do your best and enjoy yourself.”

Dr Steve Peters

Trail Therapy — a modern day rustic poet

“In 1999, lost his son to suicide. A few years later he lost his daughter to a drug overdose. At sixty-four years old, he has walked across the United States seven times to raise awareness for depression and suicide and to inspire people he meets to “love life.”

This was, just… when he cries… his language… i just… the juxtaposition of how he looks, the down to earth idioms, his story, the simple quest he’s on and the handful of moments of free-flow beatnik poetry… this is magic.

…so they can go through that situation of pain and convert that damn evil, negative self pity into self reliance and go help others with it through nothing more than telling their own story.”

Alan Watts on Why Man Suffers

Buddha’s doctrine: man suffers because of his craving to possess and keep forever things which are impermanent.”

Alan Watts

Quoting a tweet from a white, British eastern fiddler on ancient doctrines about life’s biggest questions… what a world.

I’m no Buddhist, but I’ll be damned if this sentiment right here doesn’t make some sense.

I Am For An Art That

I am for an art that is political-erotical-mystical, that does something other than sit on its ass in a museum.

I am for an art that grows up not knowing it is art at all, an art given the chance of having a starting point of zero.

I am for an art that embroils itself with the everyday crap and still comes out on top.

I am for an art that imitates the human, that is comic, if necessary, or violent, or whatever is necessary.

I am for art that is smoked like a cigarette, smells like a pair of shoes.

I am for art that flaps like a flag, or helps blow noses like a handkerchief.

I am for art that comes out of a chimney like black hair and scatters in the sky.

I am for the art that a kid licks, after peeling away the wrapper.

I am for art that is put on and taken off like pants, which develops holes like socks, which is eaten like a piece of pie, or abandoned with great contempt like a piece of shit.

I am for all art that takes its form from the lines of life itself, that twists and extends and accumulates and spits and drips, and is heavy and coarse and blunt and sweet and stupid as life itself.

Claes Oldenburg

These are just a few bits and bobs from a longer piece. Cool guy.

I’m gonna be myself and see who dances.”

Ron White

Edna on Death

I shall die, but that is all I shall do for death.”

Edna St. Vincent Millay

James Rhodes on Getting Good

What if, rather than paying £70 a month for a gym membership that delights in making you feel fat, guilty and a world away from the man your wife married you bought a few blank canvases and some paints and spent time each day painting your version of “I love you” until you realised that any woman worth keeping would jump you then and there just for that, despite your lack of a six-pack?”

James Rhodes

This was a very fk’n good article. Marked as editor’s pick so I come back to it again and again.

Charles Bukowski on Doing What You Love

“My dear, find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain from you your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you, and let it devour your remains.

For all things will kill you, both slowly and fastly, but it’s much better to be killed by a lover.

Falsely yours,
Henry Charles Bukowski”

This being attributed to Bukowski is suspect. Whatever. Still great.

Be of Use

Most of my
Fantasies are…
To be of use
To be of some hard, simple,
Undeniable use
Like a spindle
Like a candle
Like a horseshoe
Like a corkscrew
To be of use
To be of use.

via Austin Kleon

David Foster Wallace on the Important Kind of Freedom

“The freedom of all to be lords of our own, personal skull-sized kingdoms… alone at the center of all creation.

The really important kind of freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline and being able truly to care about people and to sacrifice for them, over and over in myriad petty, little unsexy ways everyday. That is real freedom.”

David Foster Wallace


There isn't time by John Baldessari

When my son died I learned how flowers in vases don’t last long. So when I found this by John Baldessari it hit hard.