Her unimpeachable dignity was the thing that made her poor in a wild old whorehouse.
One afternoon as I just gazed at the topmost branches of those immensely tall trees I began to notice that the uppermost twigs and leaves were lyrical happy dancers glad that they had been apportioned the top, with all that rumbling experience of the whole tree swaying beneath them making their dance, their every jiggle, a huge and communal and mysterious necessity dance, and so just floating up there in the void dancing the meaning of the tree.
I waded in the water and dunked a little and stood looking up at the splendorous night sky, Avalokitesvara’s ten-wondered universe of dark and diamonds.
I wanted to go and get Rita again and tell her a lot more things, and really make love to her this time, and calm her fears about men.
I have such a hopeless dream of walking or being there at night, nothing happens, I just pass, everything is unbearably over with.
Dean had a sweater wrapped around his ears to keep warm. He said we were a band of Arabs coming in to blow up New York.
It’s terrible never to find a father in a world chock-full of fathers of all sorts.
We’ve got to have mind-collecting weeks in our zendos where your mind tries to fly off like a Tinker Toy and like a good soldier you put it back together with your eyes closed except of course the whole thing is wrong.
It’s hypocrisy of men makes these hills grim.
I always thought October was a kind old Love-light.
Hopalong Cassidy conducting his great white horse across the traffic;.
Everything’s alright, form is emptiness and emptiness is form, and we’re here forever, in one form or another, which is empty. Everything’s alright, we’re not here, there, or anywhere.
Don’t be a sucker all your life, dummy up, ya dope.
My philosophy is that you can’t explain the world. It’s too big and it’s too crazy and sometimes it’s funny and most of the time it’s... strange.
Ripples in the upside-down lake of the void, is what I should have said. The bottom of the world is gold and the world is upside down.
Thinking of the stars night after night I begin to realize “The stars are words” and all the innumerable worlds in the Milky Way are words, and so is this world too. And I realize that no matter where I am, whether in a little room full of thought, or in this endless universe of stars and mountains, it’s all in my mind. There’s no need for solitude. So love life for what it is, and form no preconceptions whatever in your mind.
Trouble is, what would I do with her once I won her?- it’s like winning an angel in hell and you are then entitled to go down with her to where it’s worse or maybe there’ll be light, some, down there, maybe it’s me’s crazy-.
Begin not from preconceived idea of what to say about image but from jewel center of interest in subject of image at moment of writing, and write outwards swimming in sea of language to peripheral release and exhaustion.
Put down the pen someone else gave you. No one ever drafted a life worth living on borrowed ink. Get to San Francisco. Get to San Francisco in defiance of your geography, your ancestry and the lonely change rattling sad excuses in your pocket. Fuel up on pie and diner coffee and mystic visions and the freedom of not knowing what’s coming next except that you’re burning the road to outrun it.
Mudface is the mud in your goatface. What would you say if someone was asked the question ‘Does a dog have a Buddha nature?’ and said ‘Woof!