borrowed

the only ones 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'

this is fact not fiction

pounding along the beach with a tongue-lolling-hyperactive-and-seawater-dripping collie, crescent moon of a goofy grin stretched across his face; heart pounding, lungs heaving, plunging into bone-numbing sea-spray, sea-dog hot on my heels surf needling my nervous-system and the sun curves beyond the pale of the tangerine sky..
this is fact not fiction.

for those anti-natalists out there

there's nothing so black as the inferno of the human mind.

Be what you would seem to be -- or, if you'd like it put more simply -- Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise.

nabokov

“The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness.”

moss-free rolling stone, dream-free sanity. one more cup of coffee for the road, one more cup of coffee 'fore i go.

come away with me in my magic doris-caravan to freewheel through thunderheads, in brace position through the star-crossed heavens, down the underside of the crescent and under the bridge to places where feral children whisper their dreams into cockle shells and where the sunshine is dew on eyelids and where we fall up into the sky and not down into the well. come away.