cycads and ferns > Recent Status Updates

Obeying an inalienable law, things grew, growing riotous and strange in their impulse for growth. The heat, the light, the humidity- these were constant and had remained constant for…but nobody knew how long. Nobody cared any more for the big question that begin "How long ...?" or "Why ...?" It was no longer a place for mind. It was a place for growth, for vegetables. It was like a hothouse.

They needed to be able to swear their allegiance to Praiseworthy by answering these simple questions based on the dominant white people's common bonds and values to Australia, such as knowing what a real kangaroo was called.
Oh! That's easy. We know that! Marraji! Badakalinya! Ngangulbuwarra!
Bidirrika! Wadarr!
….What you got to do is stop thinking in blackness, and start thinking in white wash….

"Everything necessary disappears. Only the useless things remain….things sometimes disappear, that's all, because men need them and use them and they use them so much that they wear them out until they disappear….”

…you go public and all these people owning you want is dividends…you don't give them that and they sell you out, you do and some bunch of vice presidents…spot you and launch an offer and all of a sudden you're working for them trimming…turn something out they don't care what the hell it is…no pride in their work because what you've got them turning out nobody could be proud of in the first place...

“One night I fell asleep, cigar in mouth. I woke up, afraid to wake up, as if I already knew: A bat wing had grown out of me.
Disgusted, I groped in the darkness for my biggest knife and cut it off. It fell to the floor and by daylight it was a woman with dark skin and I was saying I loved her. They took me to jail."

One of my heads said to the other, He meant to search your things, and the other head said, Don't get jumpy, people make mistakes, and the first one said, Either way, my friend, they've got you talking to yourself.

DISLODGED FROM FAMILY AND SELF-KNOWLEDGE and knowledge of your origins you become free in the most sinister way. Some call it having a restless soul. That's a phrase usually reserved for ghosts, which is pretty apt. I believe that my eyes filter out things that are true.

what floor one
one? christ, should've said first
rubbing my leg against the side
going down,
man in corner
doors closed
and man in corner
grasping container hot man in corner
container hot man in corner
intercom, THIRD FLOOR
him rustling soup fingers loosening
doors him out
doors closing
my eyes! able to move
not stuck, locked, ahead alone
intercom, now FIRST FLOOR

The trouble with being educated is that it takes a long time; it uses up the better part of your life and when you are finished what you know is that you would have benefited more by going into banking.

He was convinced that real money was a hoax. There was no money. It was the government's way of controlling poverty Aboriginal people, ruthlessly convincing them to have useless beliefs about banks having money to save them….Money did not hold up the sky on what was left of his traditional land.

—No please Mister Bast, for the love of God please! You don't mind if I give you both a bit of advice?
—No, no well of course that's why I came in to….
—Stay in music Mister Bast. Stay in music and advise your, your associate here to stay in whatever in the name of God he's in, where neither of you will ever have to know the value of anything.

I wonder though
what sort of job would involve
belting myself in literally
I mean, yes, there are the obvious ones, taxi drivers, pilots, yes yes,
I meant more- same context, desk
cafetière sitting by computer screen,
but belted in,
some sort of experiment

Whenever my grandmother saw me reading in bed, she would say: "Stop that, books are dangerous." For many years I thought she was simply ignorant, but the passage of time has shown just how sensible my German grandmother was.

She came up right behind me, saying "I'm sorry" again, and rubbed the back of my arm over my tattoo…. My upper arm where she had touched me was still warm. Under the tattoo, the skin was discolored, red and white, the scar from a burn. The woman walking feebly across the room in my apartment…she is the one who burned me.

—Our trip our trip was to buy this share of America it is this company that makes things they are baskets. Why nobody buys this baskets is there is this law the law of supply and decline passed by Congress consisting of three branches judicial executory and legislature which ...

On one of these nights I dream that the Captain is falling again. He is falling through the capsule into the center of the sun….I beg him to be controlled and assume command of the voyage again, but he says he cannot because of the forces of gravity. Gravity is making him fall into the sun….I wonder why I do not follow my commander into the sun and be done with it….

She turned away, turned to the wisdom of moths, of butterflies, while hatching her own plan to escape from the known world. She would risk sanity, future times of calamity, by being taken far away, to live fabulously, flamboyantly lepidoptera-ism, in a poem for a chrysalis hatching into the glory of a simple butterfly.

They don't even have masks. There's a shortage….I don't understand…how you can go on believing in such a stingy God who created so few masks, there are so many of us who go around collecting, here and there, whatever castoff enables us to disguise ourselves and feel we're somebody, be somebody….

…these Mexicans and Americans living along both sides of the border. He saw them now as one and the same people…The border walls, the filtering syndicates, headless bodies of scientists, shrunken Indian heads— he felt these things were always around even before they'd materialized. It was all the continuous over-flow of the tension that had been boiling for over a century along the border.

Since you’re not here to learn anything…and it has to be reduced to information….In other words this leads you to assume that organization is an inherent property of the knowledge itself, and that disorder and chaos are simply irrelevant forces that threaten it from outside. In fact it’s exactly the opposite. Order is simply a thin, perilous condition we try to impose on the basic reality of chaos.…

As I sat, I had thoughts…that never made it into any one of those portraits.
My husband used to say that if he couldn't find in himself a feeling for a part of the subject he was painting, then he was compelled to leave that section of the painting blank. In the portraits of me there are many blanks.

“Some shadow or other- mine, Boy's, the Blessed Inés's- always keeps them company. On their wedding night, it was Don Clemente and Peta Ponce, fighting to see which would prevail, who urged them on, like puppet masters with their papier-mâché dolls.”

We studied everything you needed to know about surviving from the biggest library in the world-country. You only had to take a quick look around Praiseworthy to see all the stories were about surviving.

He dreamed that he was getting out of bed…and going into an identical room….He liked to go from room to room…until Prudencio Aguilar would touch him on the shoulder. Then he would go back…walking in reverse…and he would find Prudencio Aguilar in the room of reality. But one night…Prudencio Aguilar touched his shoulder in an intermediate room and he stayed there forever, thinking that it was the real room.

Now the minimally nice woman in customs wants to know the purpose of my trip, and when I say the purpose is «amnesia» I know immediately that's a mistake. But instead of fixing it I make it worse when I can't answer an even simpler question: Where are you going?
Where am I going?

Only the essential facts always stay the same: the father…makes the noble daughter vanish, thus removing her from the center of the story in order to shift the attention and vengeance of the farmhands to the old woman. A person of no importance, like all other old women…she takes over the girl's leading part in the story and she alone expiates the heavy guilt that comes from contact with forbidden powers.

And then I hit that wall. There was a mystery.
No. 96 was not where it was supposed to be, thus we couldn't be sure that no. 32 was where it wasn't appropriately. I found the predicament intoxicating as a thinker and traveler, and for a while (because this was the first time I'd been in such an obvious situation of plot) I waited for something to happen….

And then I hit that wall. There was a mystery.
No. 96 was not where it was supposed to be, thus we couldn't be sure that no. 32 was where it wasn't appropriately. I found the predicament intoxicating as a thinker and traveler, and for a while (because this was the first time I'd been in such an obvious situation of plot) I waited for something to happen….

…if we accept that particles have no single path until they are observed, or to put it another way, the path of particles is a quality of the observations we make of them and not of the particles themselves, we are stuck with the unsettling possibility that the same holds true for the universe.