At the center of everything we call ‘the arts,’ and children call ‘play,’ is something which seems somehow alive.
I think of images as an immune system and a transit system.
What year is it in your imagination?
Then how can you ever know about the beautiful goodness of Mud? How bad it wants to be things. How bad it wants to get on your legs and arms and take your footprints and handprints and how bad it wants you to make it alive! Mud is always ready to play with you. Seriously you should try it!
We don’t create a fantasy world to escape reality. We create it to be able to stay.
You keep seeing your picture on posters that you are missing but you’re not. That’d be weird, right? Or say you look down at the sidewalk and earthworms are spelling your name. Or you open a peanut bag and the ‘hello’ is written in your writing on the inside of the shell. Would that weird ya?
When we finish a book, why do we hold it in both hands and gaze at it as if it were somehow alive?
No matter what, expect the unexpected. And whenever possible BE the unexpected.
In life there are always these things happening if you can just get the joke.
Sometimes, I think the only art left for us is slowly peeling the label off a beer bottle while somebody tells you about a dream they had.
When you start to think of the arts as not this thing that is going to get you somewhere in terms of becoming an artist or becoming famous or whatever it is that people do, but rather a way of making being in the world not just bearable, but fascinating, then it starts to get interesting again.
You have to be willing to spend time making things for no known reason.
I go to work the minute I open my eyes.
Love is an exploding cigar we willingly smoke.
What is an idea made of? Of future, past and also meanwhile.
In health we’re doing the digestive system. We each got assigned a topic for an oral report. I got the small intestine. I swear to god I hate my life.
The histories of vampires and people are not so different, really. How many of us can honestly see our own reflection?
These are very confusing times. For the first time in history a woman is expected to combine: intelligence with a sharp hairdo, a raised consciousness with high heels, and an open, nonsexist relationship with a tan guy who has a great bod.
You can’t know what a book is about until the very end. This is true of a book we’re reading or writing.
Always watch the hands. The hands will tell you everything you need to know.