Erik Tuban

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Pedagogy of the O...
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Beauty Is a Wound
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The Elegance of t...
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Charles Bukowski
“my beerdrunk soul is sadder than all the dead christmas trees of the world.”
Charles Bukowski

Dalton Trumbo
“If I were dead and buried And I heard your voice, Beneath the sod My heart of dust Would still rejoice.”
Dalton Trumbo

Nicole Krauss
“Franz Kafka is Dead

He died in a tree from which he wouldn't come down. "Come down!" they cried to him. "Come down! Come down!" Silence filled the night, and the night filled the silence, while they waited for Kafka to speak. "I can't," he finally said, with a note of wistfulness. "Why?" they cried. Stars spilled across the black sky. "Because then you'll stop asking for me." The people whispered and nodded among themselves. They put their arms around each other, and touched their children's hair. They took off their hats and raised them to the small, sickly man with the ears of a strange animal, sitting in his black velvet suit in the dark tree. Then they turned and started for home under the canopy of leaves. Children were carried on their fathers' shoulders, sleepy from having been taken to see who wrote his books on pieces of bark he tore off the tree from which he refused to come down. In his delicate, beautiful, illegible handwriting. And they admired those books, and they admired his will and stamina. After all: who doesn't wish to make a spectacle of his loneliness? One by one families broke off with a good night and a squeeze of the hands, suddenly grateful for the company of neighbors. Doors closed to warm houses. Candles were lit in windows. Far off, in his perch in the trees , Kafka listened to it all: the rustle of the clothes being dropped to the floor, or lips fluttering along naked shoulders, beds creaking along the weight of tenderness. It all caught in the delicate pointed shells of his ears and rolled like pinballs through the great hall of his mind.

That night a freezing wind blew in. When the children woke up, they went to the window and found the world encased in ice. One child, the smallest, shrieked out in delight and her cry tore through the silence and exploded the ice of a giant oak tree. The world shone.

They found him frozen on the ground like a bird. It's said that when they put their ears to the shell of his ears, they could hear themselves.”
Nicole Krauss, The History of Love

John Cage
“I can't understand why people are frightened of new ideas. I'm frightened of the old ones.”
John Cage

Joseph Campbell
The Hero Path

We have not even to risk the adventure alone
for the heroes of all time have gone before us.
The labyrinth is thoroughly known ...
we have only to follow the thread of the hero path.
And where we had thought to find an abomination
we shall find a God.

And where we had thought to slay another
we shall slay ourselves.
Where we had thought to travel outwards
we shall come to the center of our own existence.
And where we had thought to be alone
we shall be with all the world.”
Joseph Campbell

68707 The Most Peculiar Poetry Salon For Particular Poets — 54 members — last activity Jul 15, 2021 06:43PM
Good day to you ladies and gents. I am hoping that soon this can be a unique and fanciful group of taleweavers. Everyone is welcome here,even if you ...more
47316 Ask Aimee Bender — 52 members — last activity May 06, 2011 10:28PM
In celebration of the paperback release of her novel The Particular Sadness of Lemon Cake, bestselling author Aimee Bender will be participating in a ...more
83453 Literary Disco — 1328 members — last activity Jan 28, 2025 03:45PM
A podcast all about books. Hosted by Tod Goldberg, Julia Pistell, and Rider Strong. Old books, new books, and book-related games. Occasionally, a gues ...more
25x33 Papyri Book Club — 10 members — last activity Feb 26, 2015 11:21PM
Papyri Book Club is a gang of outsiders, ex-students, writers, readers from Cebu City who meet at a monthly basis to discuss books, stories, poetry, e ...more
year in books
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