Yvey Violet > Yvey's Quotes

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  • #1
    Cora Carmack
    “I danced.
    I danced without music. I screamed without sound. I celebrated in silence, in the dark, behind the curtains where no one could see.”
    Cora Carmack, Losing It

  • #2
    Anne Sexton
    “And we are magic talking to itself,
    noisy and alone. I am queen of all my sins
    forgotten. Am I still lost?
    Once I was beautiful. Now I am myself”
    Anne Sexton, To Bedlam and Part Way Back

  • #3
    Allen Ginsberg
    “Who dreamt
    and made incarnate gaps in Time & Space
    through images juxtaposed,
    and trapped the archangel of the soul between 2 visual images
    and joined the elemental verbs and set the noun
    and dash of consciousness together
    jumping with sensation of Pater Omnipotens Aeterna Deus
    to recreate the syntax and measure of poor human
    prose and stand before you speechless and intelligent and shaking with shame”
    Allen Ginsberg, Howl and Other Poems

  • #4
    Allen Ginsberg
    “The whole blear world
    of smoke and twisted steel
    around my head in a railroad
    car, and my mind wandering
    past the rust into futurity:
    I saw the sun go down
    in a carnal and primeval
    world, leaving darkness
    to cover my railroad train
    because the other side of the
    world was waiting for dawn.”
    Allen Ginsberg

  • #5
    Allen Ginsberg
    “Strange now to think of you, gone without corsets & eyes, while I walk on
    the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village.
    downtown Manhattan, clear winter noon, and I've been up all night, talking,
    talking, reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to Ray Charles blues
    shout blind on the phonograph”
    Allen Ginsberg, Kaddish and Other Poems

  • #6
    Allen Ginsberg
    “one must verge on the unknown, write toward the truth hitherto unrecognizable of one’s own sincerity, including the avoidable beauty of doom, shame, and embarrassment, that very area of personal self-recognition,(detailed individual is universal remember) which formal conventions, internalized, keep us from discovering in ourselves and others”
    Allen Ginsberg

  • #7
    Allen Ginsberg
    “Forty feet long sixty feet high hotel
    Covered with old gray for buzzing flies
    Eye like mango flowing orange pus
    Ears Durga people vomiting in their sleep
    Got huge legs a dozen buses move inside Calcutta
    Swallowing mouthfuls of dead rats
    Mangy dogs bark out of a thousand breasts
    Garbage pouring from its ass behind alleys
    Always pissing yellow Hooghly water
    Bellybutton melted Chinatown brown puddles
    Coughing lungs Sound going down the sewer
    Nose smell a big gray Bidi
    Heart bumping and crashing over tramcar tracks
    Covered with a hat of cloudy iron
    Suffering water buffalo head lowered
    To pull the huge cart of year uphill”
    Allen Ginsberg

  • #8
    Allen Ginsberg
    “We're not our skin of grime, we're not our dread bleak dusty imageless locomotive, we're all beautiful golden sunflowers inside, we're blessed
    by our own seed & hairy naked
    accomplishment-bodies growing into mad black formal sunflowers in the sunset, spied on by our eyes under the shadow of the mad locomotive riverbank sunset Frisco hilly tincan evening sitdown vision.”
    Allen Ginsberg, Howl and Other Poems

  • #9
    Allen Ginsberg
    “Machine chaos on Earth, Too many bodies, mouths bleeding on every Continent”
    Allen Ginsberg, The Fall of America: Poems of These States 1965-1971

  • #10
    Allen Ginsberg
    “artificial trees, robot sofas,
    Ignorant cars-
    One Way Street to Heaven”
    Allen Ginsberg, The Fall of America: Poems of These States 1965-1971

  • #11
    Allen Ginsberg
    “May no Evil Eye peek thru window, keyhole or gunsight at his white haired face!”
    Allen Ginsberg, The Fall of America: Poems of These States 1965-1971

  • #12
    Allen Ginsberg
    “Earth pollution identical with Mind pollution, consciousness Pollution identical with filthy sky”
    Allen Ginsberg, The Fall of America: Poems of These States 1965-1971

  • #13
    Allen Ginsberg
    “...robots pencil prescriptions for acid gas sunsets”
    Allen Ginsberg, The Fall of America: Poems of These States 1965-1971

  • #14
    Jack Kerouac
    “[...]the only people for me are the mad ones, the ones who are mad to live, mad to talk, mad to be saved, desirous of everything at the same time, the ones who never yawn or say a commonplace thing, but burn, burn, burn like fabulous yellow roman candles exploding like spiders across the stars and in the middle you see the blue centerlight pop and everybody goes “Awww!”
    Jack Kerouac, On the Road

  • #15
    Jack Kerouac
    “I have lots of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so don't worry. It's all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don't know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot, which was taught in immense milky way soft cloud innumerable worlds long ago and not even at all. It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect. We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere: Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes into everything is one thing. It's a dream already ended. There's nothing to be afraid of and nothing to be glad about. I know this from staring at mountains months on end. They never show any expression, they are like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away? Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal essence of mind, the vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, will never crumble away because it was never born.”
    Jack Kerouac, The Portable Jack Kerouac

  • #16
    Jack Kerouac
    “I woke up as the sun was reddening; and that was the one distinct time in my life, the strangest moment of all, when I didn't know who I was - I was far away from home, haunted and tired with travel, in a cheap hotel room I'd never seen, hearing the hiss of steam outside, and the creak of the old wood of the hotel, and footsteps upstairs, and all the sad sounds, and I looked at the cracked high ceiling and really didn't know who I was for about fifteen strange seconds. I wasn't scared; I was just somebody else, some stranger, and my whole life was a haunted life, the life of a ghost.”
    Jack Kerouac, On the Road

  • #17
    Jack Kerouac
    “I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling.”
    Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums

  • #18
    Jack Kerouac
    “So therefore I dedicate myself, to my art, my sleep, my dreams, my labors, my suffrances, my loneliness, my unique madness, my endless absorption and hunger because I cannot dedicate myself to any fellow being.”
    Jack Kerouac

  • #19
    Jack Kerouac
    “Life was dense, dark, ancient. They watched Dean, serious and insane at his raving wheel, with eyes of hawks. All had their hands outstretched. They had come down from the back mountains and higher places to hold forth their hands for something they thought civilization could offer, and they never dreamed the sadness and the poor broken delusion of it. ”
    Jack Kerouac, On the Road

  • #20
    Jack Kerouac
    “Powerful winds that crack the boughs of November! - and the bright calm sun, untouched by the furies of the earth, abandoning the earth to darkness, and wild forlornness, and night, as men shiver in their coats and hurry home. And then the lights of home glowing in those desolate deeps. There are the stars, though! - high and sparkling in a spiritual firmament. We will walk in the windsweeps, gloating in the envelopment of ourselves, seeking the sudden grinning intelligence of humanity below these abysmal beauties. Now the roaring midnight fury and the creaking of our hinges and windows, now the winder, now the understanding of the earth and our being on it: this drama of enigmas and double-depths and sorrows and grave joys, these human things in the elemental vastness of the windblown world.”
    Jack Kerouac, Windblown World: The Journals of Jack Kerouac 1947-1954
    tags: earth

  • #21
    Jack Kerouac
    “And this is not the happiness of a magazine writer who sends in his gay little philosophy of life to the editor for the one paragraph spread in front of the magazine: This is a serious happiness full of doubts and strengths. I wonder if happiness is possible. It is a state of mind, but I'd hate to be a bore all my life, if only because of those I love around me. Happiness can change into unhappiness just for the sake of change.”
    Jack Kerouac, Windblown World: The Journals of Jack Kerouac 1947-1954

  • #22
    Jack Kerouac
    “Then a complete silence fell over everybody; where once Dean would have talked his way out, he now fell silent himself, but standing in front of everybody, ragged and broken and idiotic, right under the lightbulbs, his bony mad face covered with sweat and throbbing veins, saying, "Yes, yes, yes," as though tremendous revelations were pouring into him all the time now, and I am convinced they were, and the others suspected as much and were frightened. He was BEAT-the root, the soul of Beatific.”
    Jack Kerouac, On the Road

  • #23
    Jack Kerouac
    “They had come down from the back mountains and higher places to hold forth their hands for something they though civilisation could offer, and they never dreamed the sadness and the poor broken delusion of it. They didn't know that a bomb had come that could crack all our bridges and roads and reduce them to jumbles, and we would be as poor as they someday and stretching out our hands in the same, same way.”
    Jack Kerouac

  • #24
    Jack Kerouac
    “Dean took out other pictures. I realized these were all the snapshots which our children would look at someday with wonder, thinking their parents had lived smooth, well-ordered, stabilized-within-the-photo lives and got up in the morning to walk proudly on the sidewalks of life, never dreaming the raggedy madness and riot of our actual lives, or actual night, the hell of it, the senseless nightmare road. All of it inside endless and beginningless emptiness.”
    Jack Kerouac, On the Road

  • #25
    Jack Kerouac
    “Now the mountains were getting that pink tinge, I mean the rocks, they were just solid rock covered with the atoms of dust accumulated there since beginningless time. In fact I was afraid of those jagged monstrosities all around and over our heads.
    "They're so silent!" I said.
    "Yeah man, you know to me a mountain is a Buddha. Think of the patience, hundreds of thousands of years just sitting there bein perfectly perfectly silent and like praying for all living creatures in that silence and just waitin for us to stop all our frettin and foolin.”
    Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums
    tags: irie

  • #26
    Jack Kerouac
    “Dharma Bums refusing to subscribe to the general demand that they consume production and therefore have to work for the privilege of consuming, all that cramp they didn't really want anyway such as refrigerators, TV sets, cars, at least new fancy cars, certain hair oils and deodorants and general junk you finally always see a week later in the garbage anyway, all of them imprisoned in a system of work, produce, consume, work, produce, consume...”
    Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums
    tags: irie

  • #27
    William S. Burroughs
    “A paranoid is someone who knows a little of what's going on. A psychotic is a guy who's just found out what's going on.”
    William S. Burroughs

  • #28
    William S. Burroughs
    “Desperation is the raw material of drastic change. Only those who can leave behind everything they have ever believed in can hope to escape. ”
    William S. Burroughs

  • #29
    William S. Burroughs
    “The first and most important thing an individual can do is to become an individual again, decontrol himself, train himself as to what is going on and win back as much independent ground for himself as possible”
    William S. Burroughs

  • #30
    William S. Burroughs
    “The question is frequently asked: Why does a man become a drug addict?
    The answer is that he usually does not intend to become an addict. You don’t wake up one morning and decide to be a drug addict. It takes at least three months’ shooting twice a day to get any habit at all. And you don’t really know what junk sickness is until you have had several habits. It took me almost six months to get my first habit, and then the withdrawal symptoms were mild. I think it no exaggeration to say it takes about a year and several hundred injections to make an addict.
    The questions, of course, could be asked: Why did you ever try narcotics? Why did you continue using it long enough to become an addict? You become a narcotics addict because you do not have strong motivations in the other direction. Junk wins by default. I tried it as a matter of curiosity. I drifted along taking shots when I could score. I ended up hooked. Most addicts I have talked to report a similar experience. They did not start using drugs for any reason they can remember. They just drifted along until they got hooked. If you have never been addicted, you can have no clear idea what it means to need junk with the addict’s special need. You don’t decide to be an addict. One morning you wake up sick and you’re an addict. (Junky, Prologue, p. xxxviii)”
    William S. Burroughs, Junky



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