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“Once, I remember, we came upon a man-of-war anchored off the coast. There wasn't even a shed there, and she was shelling the bush. It appears the French had one of their wars going on thereabouts. Her ensign dropped limp like a rag; the muzzles of the long six-inch guns stuck out all over the low hull; the greasy, slimy swell swung her up lazily and let her down, swaying her thin masts. In the empty immensity of earth, sky, and water, there she was, incomprehensible, firing into a continent. Pop, would go one of the six-inch guns; a small flame would dart and vanish, a little white smoke would disappear, a tiny projectile would give a feeble screech—and nothing happened. Nothing could happen. There was a touch of insanity in the proceeding, a sense of lugubrious drollery in the sight; and it was not dissipated by somebody on board assuring me earnestly there was a camp of natives—he called them enemies!—hidden out of sight somewhere.”
― Heart of Darkness
― Heart of Darkness
“Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still.
For once on the face of the earth
let's not speak in any language,
let's stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.
It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines,
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.
Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would look at his hurt hands.
Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victory with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.
What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;
I want no truck with death.
If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.
Now I'll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.”
―
and we will all keep still.
For once on the face of the earth
let's not speak in any language,
let's stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.
It would be an exotic moment
without rush, without engines,
we would all be together
in a sudden strangeness.
Fishermen in the cold sea
would not harm whales
and the man gathering salt
would look at his hurt hands.
Those who prepare green wars,
wars with gas, wars with fire,
victory with no survivors,
would put on clean clothes
and walk about with their brothers
in the shade, doing nothing.
What I want should not be confused
with total inactivity.
Life is what it is about;
I want no truck with death.
If we were not so single-minded
about keeping our lives moving,
and for once could do nothing,
perhaps a huge silence
might interrupt this sadness
of never understanding ourselves
and of threatening ourselves with death.
Perhaps the earth can teach us
as when everything seems dead
and later proves to be alive.
Now I'll count up to twelve
and you keep quiet and I will go.”
―
“Of course they won't bloody remember, they'll be dead.' Then she called him a name in a dead language that translated, roughly, to 'poop on a stick,' but sounded more succinct, like this: 'Of course they won't bloody remember, they'll be dead, Poopstick.”
― Sacré Bleu: A Comedy d'Art
― Sacré Bleu: A Comedy d'Art
“What is Required by Paul Allen (fragment)
1
All elsewhere being World,
how many times have I stood
in the bright shadows of a wood,
no track or trail leading in, out-
as though ground cover
renewed as I went through?
I sometimes own the moments where I stand
alone. Everything else is air
and arbitrary firings of neurons
we call memory if they happened,
fantasy if they didn’t- same pictures.
Call it prayer, then,
the moments where I’m not aware
even of how lovely the moment is-
not liking, not disliking-
not aware there is a moment
until I’m back in the world
and remember it- construct it
in my mind as having been beautiful.
4
I’m too often bitten by silence.
My mother called it dawdling,
the ex, brooding. My students call it
absent-minded professor.
The kindest students bring me back gently.
But I live most when silence,
shade, and light like this harvest me,
a kind of prayer I’m gathered to,
not the prayer I clutter with will or words.”
― Ground Forces
1
All elsewhere being World,
how many times have I stood
in the bright shadows of a wood,
no track or trail leading in, out-
as though ground cover
renewed as I went through?
I sometimes own the moments where I stand
alone. Everything else is air
and arbitrary firings of neurons
we call memory if they happened,
fantasy if they didn’t- same pictures.
Call it prayer, then,
the moments where I’m not aware
even of how lovely the moment is-
not liking, not disliking-
not aware there is a moment
until I’m back in the world
and remember it- construct it
in my mind as having been beautiful.
4
I’m too often bitten by silence.
My mother called it dawdling,
the ex, brooding. My students call it
absent-minded professor.
The kindest students bring me back gently.
But I live most when silence,
shade, and light like this harvest me,
a kind of prayer I’m gathered to,
not the prayer I clutter with will or words.”
― Ground Forces
“When the great ship containing the hopes and aspirations of the world, when the great ship freighted with mankind goes down in the night of death, chaos and disaster, I am willing to go down with the ship. I will not be guilty of the ineffable meanness of paddling away in some orthodox canoe. I will go down with the ship, with those who love me, and with those whom I have loved. If there is a God who will damn his children forever, I would rather go to hell than to go to heaven and keep the society of such an infamous tyrant. I make my choice now. I despise that doctrine. It has covered the cheeks of this world with tears. It has polluted the hearts of children, and poisoned the imaginations of men. It has been a constant pain, a perpetual terror to every good man and woman and child. It has filled the good with horror and with fear; but it has had no effect upon the infamous and base. It has wrung the hearts of the tender; it has furrowed the cheeks of the good. This doctrine never should be preached again. What right have you, sir, Mr. clergyman, you, minister of the gospel, to stand at the portals of the tomb, at the vestibule of eternity, and fill the future with horror and with fear? I do not believe this doctrine: neither do you. If you did, you could not sleep one moment. Any man who believes it, and has within his breast a decent, throbbing heart, will go insane. A man who believes that doctrine and does not go insane has the heart of a snake and the conscience of a hyena.”
― The Liberty of Man, Woman and Child
― The Liberty of Man, Woman and Child
DB’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at DB’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
335 books
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219 friends
9,893 books
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124 friends
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37 friends
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