letters swallow themselves in seconds.
notes friends tied to the doorknob,
transparent scarlet paper,
sizzle like moth wings,
marry the air.

so much of any year is flammable,
lists of vegetables, partial poems.
orange swirling flame of days,
so little is a stone.

where there was something and suddenly isn’t,
an absence shouts, celebrates, leaves a space.
i begin again with the smallest numbers.

quick dance, shuffle of losses and leaves,
only the things i didn’t do
crackle after the blazing dies.

 naomi shihab


El Lugar del Fuego

Every heart is a lonesome Hunter



She could be very, very nice — even seductive — to people she wanted something from. She just could not talk to stupid people.

Must Be The Weather


El Uno

I've watched through his eyes, I've listened through his ears, and I tell you he's the one.

Orson Scott Card // Ender's Game

La Caída en el Amor



against the wall, the firing squad ready.
then he got a reprieve.
suppose they had shot Dostoevsky?
before he wrote all that?
I suppose it wouldn’t have
not directly.
there are billions of people who have
never read him and never
but as a young man I know that he
got me through the factories,
past the whores,
lifted me high through the night
and put me down
in a better
even while in the bar
drinking with the other
I was glad they gave Dostoevsky a
it gave me one,
allowed me to look directly at those
rancid faces
in my world,
death pointing its finger,
I held fast,
an immaculate drunk
sharing the stinking dark with

Charles Bukowski

R I P El Ciudadano

Gravenhurst, real name Nick Talbot, has passed away aged 37.

Read more


No Sales Mi Comida Con Tus Lágrimas

Against my father’s wishes I study the stars.

“How soon is this, that we’re talking about?”

“Pray we may be gone by then. We have our own ways of Disobedience,— ‘”

Gallos Lloraron Todo el Día


Martillando por Amor.




He woke, and remembered dying. 

Ken MacLeod // The Stone Canal.



One can very well eat lettuce before its heart has been formed; still, the delicate crispness of the heart and its lovely frizz are something altogether different from the leaves. It is the same in the world of the spirit. Being too busy has this result: that an individual very, very rarely is permitted to form a heart; on the other hand, the thinker, the poet, or the religious personality who actually has formed his heart, will never be popular, not because he is difficult, but because it demands quiet and prolonged working with oneself and intimate knowledge of oneself as well as a certain isolation.

Søren Kierkegaard


El Caballo y la Catarina


Having perfected our disguise, we spend our lives searching for someone we don’t fool.



At the end, the bottom, the very worst of it, with the world afire and hell's flamewinged angels calling him by name, Lee Crane blamed himself.

Theodore Sturgeon  //  Voyage To The Bottom Of The Sea

El Gato con Manos

Robert Morgan



I assure you we are always discussing and differing, said Percy Beaumont. She is awfully argumentative. American ladies certainly don’t mind contradicting you. Upon my word I don’t think I was ever treated so by a woman before. She’s so devilish positive.

Henry JAmes



Today is the two-hundredth anniversary of the final extinction of my One True Love, as close as I can date it.

Charles Stross // Saturn's Children,


Ahí Debajo, Donde el Espíritu Conoce el Hueso

Have compassion for everyone you meet
Even if they don’t want it
What seems conceit
Is always a sign
Always a sign
Always a sign
For those you encounter
Have compassion
Even if they don’t want it
What seems bad manners
Is always a sign
Always a sign
Always a sign

Always a sign
of things no ears have heard
Always a sign
of things no eyes have seen
You do not know
What wars are going on
Down there, where the spirit meets the bone
Down there, where the spirit meets the bone
Down where the spirit meets the bone

For everyone you listen to
Have compassion
Even if they don’t want it
What seems cynicism
Is always a sign
Always a sign
Always a sign
Always a sign

Always a sign
Of things no ears have heard
Always a sign of things no eyes have seen
You do not know
What wars are going on
Down there, where the spirit meets the bone
Down there, where the spirit meets the bone
Down where the spirit meets the bone

Down there, where the spirit meets the bone
Down there, where the spirit meets the bone
Down where the spirit meets the bone


Corriendo Dentro de Una Persona

When I run into a person or a kid that comes up and gives me the spiel about, “Hey, I got your record at this time in my life, and it really helped me,” that stuff totally still rings true. If you’re standing there talking to someone, it’s really easy to tell if they’re being authentic or not. And that’s great. That’s the reason to share music. Art is essentially communication. It doesn’t exist in a vacuum. That’s why people make art, so other people can relate to it. That’s just part of the deal. But from where I’m standing, putting it out there, I’m kind of shooting it down this wire, and I have no idea who’s on the other side of it. I just hope that it gets to them intact, and that maybe someone, somewhere, it makes them feel better, or makes them feel something. That’s as much as I can do, I guess. And beyond that, it’s like, try to have fun and do things that I’m interested in, and that sound cool to me. And maybe people will relate to it.

Conor Oberst

Last Days of Nobodies

Mike Medaglia


Lo menos

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 // Born November 11, 1922

Donde Viví, y Por Lo Que Vivía.

The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.

I went to the woods because I wished to live deliberately, to front only the essential facts of life, and see if I could not learn what it had to teach, and not, when I came to die, discover that I had not lived.


I Hate You

Por los Siglos

Here’s the thing about misery. I had a lot of misery when I was growing up. I have enough misery to last me for the rest of my lifetime. The misery is like a well, and I just dig into the thing and pull it out anytime I want. I have misery and then some. I don’t need to create any more.


The hardest thing is not looking like you’re pointing the finger and blaming someone…



Whiter Shade of Pale

…to award someone a prize is no different from pissing on him. And to receive a prize is no different from allowing oneself to be pissed on, because one is being paid for it.

Thomas Bernhard  //  Wittgenstein’s Nephew.



Hot Bloody Mammal


Every happiness that a man enjoys, and almost every friendship that he cherishes, rest upon illusion; for, as a rule, with increase of knowledge they are bound to vanish.




Feeling of complete

30 October.

The possibilities within me, I won’t say to act or write The Miser, but to be the miser himself. It would need only a sudden determined movement of my hands, the entire orchestra gazes in fascination at the spot above the conductor’s stand where the baton will rise.

Feeling of complete helplessness.

From Franz Kafka  // Diary entry of October 30, 1921.


El Más Grando Bastardo

La Familia de las Cosas

You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.

Mary Oliver // The Wild Geese


Rompeme las Piernas

I Was Going to Hell

TOM: When I met Steve, I was very rebellious with the church, and it fascinated me that Steven was gay and involved with the church at the same time. I had a very fundamentalist background, so it was very hard for me to come out ’cause I had all these religious friends who told me I was going to hell. [I went to a] Bible college, so I didn’t have a pretty time at first. I was running around with friends that drank and took drugs, and Steven rarely drank, wasn’t into drugs, so that fascinated me. And he was very sweet and gentle.

Sage Sohier


El Cometa Fatalista



Lágrimas Feroces

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Dylan Thomas // Born October 27 // Do not go gentle into that good night.

Musas Inquietantes

Day now, night now, at head, side, feet,
They stand their vigil in gowns of stone,
Faces blank as the day I was born,
Their shadows long in the setting sun
That never brightens or goes down.
And this is the kingdom you bore me to,
Mother, mother. But no frown of mine
Will betray the company I keep.

Sylvia Plath // Born October 27 // The Disquieting Muses


Kalman en Incertidumbre

Because it's Killing Me

I do not care for walks either, and have been a reluctant walker all my life. I have always disliked walking, but I am prepared to go for walks with friends, and this makes them think I am a keen walker, for there is an amazing theatricality about the way I walk. I am certainly not a keen walker, nor am I a nature lover or a nature expert. But when I am with friends I walk in such a way as to convince them I am a keen walker, a nature lover, and a nature expert. I know nothing about nature. I hate nature, because it is killing me. I live in the country only because the doctors have told me that I must live in the country if I want to survive—for no other reason. In fact I love everything except nature, which I find sinister; I have become familiar with the malignity and implacability of nature through the way it has dealt with my own body and soul, and being unable to contemplate the beauties of nature without at the same time contemplating its malignity and implacability, I fear it and avoid it whenever I can. The truth is that I am a city dweller who can at best tolerate nature. It is only with reluctance that I live in the country, which on the whole I find hostile.





He was tired. When Katya began whimpering, he looked severely at her from his overhanging eyebrows, frowned, and said in a heavy, deep bass:

“I cannot marry.”

“Why not?” Katya asked softly.

“Because for a painter, and in fact any man who lives for art, marriage is out of the question. An artist must be free.”

Anton Chekhov // Talent