There ain’t no such thing as lumberjack, that must be a Back East expression. Up here we call ’em loggers.
Goodnight gentle readers, sleep; sweet music to your dreams.
Great beautiful clouds floated overhead, valley clouds that made you feel the vastness of old tumbledown holy America from mouth to mouth and tip to tip.
I haven’t the courage, or perhaps the hardness, to withstand the tremendous pathos of this life. I love life’s casual beauty- fear its awful strength.
Sometimes during the night I’d look at my poor sleeping mother cruelly crucified there in the American night because of no-money, no-hope-of-money, no family, no nothing, just myself the stupid son of plans all of them compacted of eventual darkness.
The tremendous secrecy of alleys between houses.
And of course now no one can tell us that there is no God. We’ve passed through all forms. You remember, Sal, when I first came to New York and I wanted Chad King to teach me about Nietzsche. You see how long ago? Everything is fine, God exists, we know time. Everything since the Greeks has been predicted wrong. You can’t make it with geometry and geometrical systems of thinking. It’s all this!
No imaginary judgments of form, The clouds Butterfat.
Allen was “queer in those days, experimenting with himself to the hilt, and Neal saw that, and a former boyhood hustler himself in the Denver night, and wanting dearly to learn how to write poetry like Allen, the first thing you know he was attacking Allen with a great amorous soul such as only a conman can have.
The world really does not matter, but God has made it so, and so it matters in God, and He Hath Aims for it, which we cannot know without the understanding of obedience. There is nothing to do but give praise. This is my ethic of “art” and why so.
Ich mag dich, aber nicht deine idiotischen Freunde.
Shearing began to play his chords; they rolled out of the piano in great rich showers, you’d think the man wouldn’t have time to line them up. They rolled and rolled like the sea.
God was gone; it was the silence of his departure. It was a rainy night. It was the myth of the rainy night. Dean was popeyed with awe. This madness would lead nowhere. I didn’t know what was happening to me, and I suddenly realized it was only the tea that we were smoking;.
Senevabitch Jackcrack, vugup huh?
Like as the birds that gather in the trees of afternoon,′ wrote Ashvhaghosha almost two thousand years ago, ’then at nightfall vanish all away, so are the separations of the world.
I’m glad I know you Dave” – “Me too Jack” – “Why? ” “Maybe I wanted to stand on my head in the snow to prove it but I do, am glad, will be glad, after all that’s right there’s nothing else for us to do but solve these damn problems and I’ve got one right here in my pants for Romana” “But that’s so sick and tired to call life a problem that can be solved” – “Yes but I’m just repeating what I read in the dead pigeon textbooks” – “But Dave I love you” – “Okay I’ll be right over.
One night my old man left the day’s receipts settin on top of the safe, plumb forgot. What happened – a thief came in the night, acetylene torch and all, broke open the safe, riffled up the papers, kicked over a few chairs, and left. And that thousand dollars was settin right there on top of the safe, what do you know about that?
Where the stars nodded on trees.
I had come to France to do nothing but walk and eat.
On rails we leaned and looked at the great brown father of waters rolling down from mid-America like the torrent of broken souls.