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Sunny

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101 Things I Learned in Architecture School

by Matthew Frederick (Goodreads Author)

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Jan 27, 2013 06:27AM

“Here is a lesson in creative writing.

First rule: Do not use semicolons. They are transvestite hermaphrodites representing absolutely nothing. All they do is show you've been to college.

And I realize some of you may be having trouble deciding whether I am kidding or not. So from now on I will tell you when I'm kidding.

For instance, join the National Guard or the Marines and teach democracy. I'm kidding.

We are about to be attacked by Al Qaeda. Wave flags if you have them. That always seems to scare them away. I'm kidding.

If you want to really hurt your parents, and you don't have the nerve to be gay, the least you can do is go into the arts. I'm not kidding. The arts are not a way to make a living. They are a very human way of making life more bearable. Practicing an art, no matter how well or badly, is a way to make your soul grow, for heaven's sake. Sing in the shower. Dance to the radio. Tell stories. Write a poem to a friend, even a lousy poem. Do it as well as you possibly can. You will get an enormous reward. You will have created something.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, A Man Without a Country

tags: art, creative-process, humor, writing

644 likes

“But to tear down a factory or to revolt against a government or to avoid repair of a motorcycle because it is a system is to attack effects rather than causes; and as long as the attack is upon effects only, no change is possible. The true system, the real system, is our present construction of systematic thought itself, rationality itself, and if a factory is torn down but the rationality which produced it is left standing, then that rationality will simply produce another factory. If a revolution destroys a systematic government, but the systematic patterns of thought that produced that government are left intact, then those patterns will repeat themselves in the succeeding government. There’s so much talk about the system. And so little understanding.”
― Robert M Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance: An Inquiry Into Values

216 likes

“As Harold took a bite of Bavarian sugar cookie, he finally felt as if everything was going to be ok. Sometimes, when we lose ourselves in fear and despair, in routine and constancy, in hopelessness and tragedy, we can thank God for Bavarian sugar cookies. And, fortunately, when there aren't any cookies, we can still find reassurance in a familiar hand on our skin, or a kind and loving gesture, or subtle encouragement, or a loving embrace, or an offer of comfort, not to mention hospital gurneys and nose plugs, an uneaten Danish, soft-spoken secrets, and Fender Stratocasters, and maybe the occasional piece of fiction. And we must remember that all these things, the nuances, the anomalies, the subtleties, which we assume only accessorize our days, are effective for a much larger and nobler cause. They are here to save our lives. I know the idea seems strange, but I also know that it just so happens to be true.”
― Zach Helm, Stranger Than Fiction: The Shooting Script

20 likes

“I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)”
― Sylvia Plath

4449 likes

“Zeleno, volim te, zeleno.
Zelen vetar, zelene grane.
Brod na moru
i konj u planini.
Opasana senkom
ona sanja na verandi,
zelene puti, kose zelene,
sa očima od hladnog srebra.
Zeleno, volim te, zeleno!
Pod lunom Cigankom
stvari pilje u nju
a ona ih ne vidi.

Zeleno, volim te, zeleno!
Velike zvezde od inja
dolaze sa ribom senke
što otvara put zori.
Smokva trlja vetar
korom svojih grana,
a breg, mačak lupež,
ježi svoje ljute agave.
Ali ko će doći? I odakle?
Ona čeka na balkonu,
zelene puti, kose zelene,
sanjajuci gorko more.

-Kume, daću ti
konja za kuću,
sedlo za njeno ogledalo,
nož za njen ogrtač.
Kume, dolazim krvareći
iz Kabrinih klanaca.
-Kad bih mogao, mladiću,
lako bi se nagodili.
Ali ja više nisam ja
niti je moj dom više moj.

Kume, hoću da umrem
pristojno u svojoj postelji
od čelika i, ako je moguce,

sa holandskim čaršavima...
Zar ne vidiš moju ranu
od grudi do grla?

-Trista crnih ruža
pokrivaju tvoj beli grudnjak.
Krv ti vri i miriše
oko pojasa.
Ali ja više nisam ja
niti je moj dom više moj.

-Pusti me bar
na visoke verande,
pusti me da se popnem! Pusti me
na zelene verande.
Verandice mesečeve,
gde kaplje voda.

Već se penju dva kuma
na visoke verande.
Ostavljajući trag krvi.
Ostavljajući trag suza.
Drhtali su krovovi,
fenjerčići od lima.
Hiljadu staklenih defova
ranjavalo je zoru.

Zeleno, volim te, zeleno!
Zelen vetar, zelene grane.
Dva kuma su se popela.
Širok vetar ostavljao je
u ustima čudan ukus
žuči, mentola i bosiljka.

-Kume, gde je, reci mi,
gde je tvoje gorko devojče?
-Koliko puta te je čekala
sveža lica, crne kose,
na toj zelenoj verandi.
Nad ogledalom bunara
Ciganka se njiha.
Zelene puti, kose zelene,

sa očima od hladnog srebra.
Mesečev stalaktit od leda
drži je nad vodom.
Noć je postala intimna
kao mali trg.

Pijani su žandari
lupali na vrata.
Zeleno, volim te, zeleno!
Zelene vetar, zelene grane.
Brod na moru
i konj u planini.

- ROMANSA MESECARKA”
― Frederico Garcia Lorca

27 likes

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