Solitudes Crowded With Loneliness Quotes

“(So much laughter, concealed by blood and faith;
Life is a saxophone played by death.)

Greedy to please, we learned to cry;
Hungry to live, we learned to die.
The heart is a sad musician,
Forever playing the blues.”
― Bob Kaufman, Solitudes Crowded With Loneliness

“My face is covered with maps of dead nations”
― Bob Kaufman, Solitudes Crowded With Loneliness

“Spiraling in hollowed caves of skin-stretched me, totally doorless,

Emptied of vital parts, previously evicted finally
by landlord mind

To make nerve-lined living space, needed desperately by my transient, sightless, sleepless,
Soul.”
― Bob Kaufman, Solitudes Crowded With Loneliness

“I am not not an I, secret wick, I do nothing, light myself, burn.”
― Bob Kaufman, Solitudes Crowded With Loneliness

“For every remembered dream. There are twenty nighttime lifetimes.”
― Bob Kaufman, Solitudes Crowded With Loneliness

“Raging in and out of insane comas,
Spouting word fountains
At the shriveled mouths
Of wildly depraved roses
As Cassandra dances
On the singed eyelids
Of sleepless ants.”
― Bob Kaufman, Solitudes Crowded With Loneliness

“My body is a torn mattress,
Disheveled throbbing place
For the comings and goings
Of loveless transients.
The whole of me
Is an unfinished room
Filled with dank breath
Escaping in gasps to nowhere.
Before completely objective mirrors
I have shot myself with my eyes,
But death refused my advances.
I have walked on my walls each night
Through strange landscapes in my head.
I have brushed my teeth with orange peel,
Iced with cold blood from the dripping faucets.
My face is covered with maps of dead nations;
My hair is littered with drying ragweed.
Bitter raisins drip haphazardly from my nostrils
While schools of glowing minnows swim from my mouth.
The nipples of my breasts are sun-browned cockleburs;
Long-forgotten Indian tribes fight battles on my chest
Unaware of the sunken ships rotting in my stomach.
My legs are charred remains of burned cypress trees;
My feet are covered with moss from bayous, flowing
across my floor.
I can't go out anymore.
I shall sit on my ceiling.
Would you wear my eyes?”
― Bob Kaufman, Solitudes Crowded With Loneliness

“The Church is becoming alarmed by the number of people defecting to God.”
― Bob Kaufman, Solitudes Crowded With Loneliness