“An artist’s only concern is to shoot for some kind of perfection, and on his own terms, not anyone else’s.”Zooey, “Franny and Zooey”, JD Salinger
Mervyn Peake: If trees gushed blood
If trees gushed blood
When they were felled
By meddling man,
And crimson welled
From every gash– Mervyn Peake
His axe can give,
Would he forbear,
And let them live?
By the Pricking of My Thumbs…
First of all, it was October, a rare month for boys. Not that all months aren’t rare. But there be bad and good, as the pirates say. Take September, a bad month: school begins. Consider August, a good month: school hasn’t begun yet. July, well, July’s really fine: there’s no chance in the world for school. June, no doubting it, June’s best of all, for the school doors spring wide and September’s a billion years away.
But you take October, now. School’s been on a month and you’re riding easier in the reins, jogging along. You got time to think of the garbage you’ll dump on old man Prickett’s porch, or the hairy-ape costume you’ll wear to the YMCA the last night of the month. And if it’s around October twentieth and everything smoky-smelling and the sky orange and ash gray at twilight, it seems Halloween will never come in a fall of broomsticks and a soft flap of bedsheets around corners.Ray Bradbury, Something Wicked This Way Comes.
Life and Death
How do I know that loving life is not a delusion? How do I know that in hating death I am not like a man who, having left home in his youth, has forgotten the way back?
How do I know that the dead do not wonder why they ever longed for life?Zhuangzi, The Complete Works of Chuang Tzu