Tuesday, 12 March 2013

Howdy y'all!

Here, for the celebration of ol Jack's birfday!

What’s your road, man? — holyboy road, madman road, rainbow road, guppy road, 
any road. 
It’s an anywhere road for anybody anyhow...

& tho it be posted on the ol book of faces already I wanted to put this up here too coz it's one of me favorites=)

& The Prophet goeth:

And a youth said, Speak to us of

And he answered, saying:

He is your field which you sow with love and reap
with thanksgiving.

And he is your board and your fireside.

For you come to him with your hunger, and you
seek him for peace.

When your friend speaks his mind you fear not the
'nay' in your own mind, nor do you withhold the

And when he is silent your heart ceases not to listen
to his heart;

For without words, in friendship, all thoughts, all
desires, all expectations are born and shared, with
joy that is unacclaimed.

When you part from your friend, your grieve not;

For that which you love most in him may be clearer
in his absence, as the mountain to the climber is
clearer from the plain.

And let there be no purpose in friendship save the
deepening of the spirit.

For love that seeks aught but the disclosure of its
own mystery is not love but a net cast forth: and
only the unprofitable is caught.

And let your best be for your friend.

If he must know the ebb of your tide, let him know
its flood also.

For what is your friend that you should seek him
with hours to kill?

Seek him always with hours to live.

For it is his to fill your need, but not your emptiness.

And in the sweetness of friendship let there be
laughter, and sharing of pleasures.

For in the dew of little things the heart finds its
morning and is refreshed.

be blessed!


Wednesday, 30 January 2013


Gone n done me some more sketching...

sheeet.. thar ya go.. last one supposed to be ol blue-eyes..
looks bit more like that kid from Skins...
Anyway.. pretty difficult business the old drawin.. 
but fun too..

Watched this today & found it hugely inspirational:

(bit of swedish subs for y'all.. 
the version I saw didn't have the voiceover..
hope it ain't too disturbin...)

Poem by Gregory Corso:


Friends be kept
Friends be gained
ANd even friends lost be friends regained
He had no foes he made them all into friends
A friend will die for you 
Acquaintances can never make friends
Some friends want to be everybody's friend
There are friends who take you away from friends
Friends believe in friendship with a vengeance!
Some friends always want to do you favors 
SOme always want to get NEAR you
You can't do this to me I'm your FRIEND
My friends said FDR
Let's be friends says the USSR
Old Scrooge knew a joy in a friendless Christmas
LEopold and Loeb planning in the night!
Et tu Brute
I have many friends yet sometimes I am nobody's friend
The majority of friends are male
Girls always prefer male friends
Friends know when you're troubled
It's what they crave for!
The bonds of friendship are not inseparable
Those who haven't any friends and want some are often
Those who have friends and don't want them are doomed
Those who haven't any friends and don't want any are grand
Those who have friends and want them seem sadly human
Sometimes I scream Friends are bondage! A madness!
All a waste of INDIVIDUAL time -
Without friends life would be different not miserable
Does on need a friend in heaven -

Prophet goes:

Then said a teacher, Speak to us of Teaching.

And he said:

No man can reveal to you aught but that which
already lies half asleep in the dawning of your

The teacher who walks in the shadow of the temple,
among his followers, gives not of his wisdom but
rather of his faith and his lovingness.

If he is indeed wise he does not bid you enter the
house of wisdom, but rather leads you to the 
threshold of your own mind.

The astronomer may speak to you of his
understanding of space, but he cannot give you his

The musician may sing to you of the rhythm which
is in all space, but he cannot give you the ear which
arrests the rhythm, nor the voice that echoes it.

And he who is versed in the science of numbers can
tell of the regions of weight and measure, but he
cannot conduct you thither. 

For the vision of one man lends not its wings to
another man.

And even as each one of you stands alone in God's
knowledge, so must each one of you be alone in his
knowledge of God and in his understanding of the 



Monday, 28 January 2013


me been doin some sketchin... inspired in large parts by m'good dear buddy

tho I ain't nowhere NEAR his kungfu comics&portraits skills but I just thought I'd stick these up here nonetheless... 

(lil bit of Abe's letter in th background thar=) )

don't know who they "are".. just started on the eyes n took it from there..

last one spposed t be self portrait.. guess I ain't gonna be on the streets of, say, Paris paintin folks.. or if so then they gonna be goin home with a picture of some complete random person... coz at least I don' think I look much like the above but.. maybe on some crazy subconscious level it's how I'd like to look.. I don't know..
fuck it

Found this tday:


pretty cool..

Prophet goeth:

And a man said, Speak to us of Self-

And he answered, saying:

Your hearts know in silence the secrets of the days
and the nights.

But your ears thirst for the sound of your heart's 

You would know in words that which you have
always known in thought.

You would touch with your fingers the naked body
of your dreams.

And it is well you should.

The hidden well-spring of your soul must needs rise
and run murmuring to the sea;

And the treasure of your infinite depths would be
revealed to your eyes.

But let there be no scales to weigh your unknown

And seek not the depths of your knowledge with
staff or sounding line. 

For self is a sea boundless and measureless.

Say not, ´I have found the truth,´ but rather, ´I have
found a truth.´

Say not, ´I have found the path of the soul.´Say
rather, ´I have met the soul walking upon my path.´

For the soul walks upon all paths.

The soul walks not upon a line, neither does it grow
like a reed.

The soul unfolds itself, like a lotus of countless 

be blessed n loved


Sunday, 27 January 2013

Early morn...

A swell piece from The Diary of Anais Nin's Vol.4 1944-47:

"I see myself and my life each day differently. What can I say? The facts lie. I have been Don Quixote, always creating a world of my own. I am all the women in the novels, yet still another not in the novels. It took me more than sixty diary volumes until now to tell about my life. Like Oscar Wilde I put only my art into my work and my genius into my life. My life is not possible to tell. I change every day, change my patterns, my concepts, my interpretations. I am a series of moods and sensations. I play a thousand roles. I weep when I find others play them for me. My real self is unknown. My work is merely an essence of this vast and deep adventure. I create a myth and a legend, a lie, a fairy tale, a magical world, and one that collapses every day and makes me feel like going the way of Virginia Woolf. I have tried to be not neurotic, not romantic, not destructive, but may be all of these in disguises.
It is impossible to make my portrait because of my mobility. I am not photogenic because of my mobility. Peace, serenity, and integration are unknown to me. My familiar climate is anxiety. I write as I breathe, naturally, flowingly, spontaneously, out of an overflow, not as a substitute for life. I am more interested in human beings than in writing, more interested in lovemaking than in writing, more interested in living than in writing. More interested in becoming a work of art than in creating one. I am more interesting than what I write. I am gifted in relationship above all things. I have no confidence in myself and great confidence in others. I need love more than food. I stumble and make errors, and often want to die. When I look most transparent is probably when I have just come out of the fire. I walk into the fire always, and come out more alive. All of which is not for Harper’s Bazaar.
I think life tragic, not comic, because I have no detachment. I have been guilty of idealization, guilty of everything except detachment. I am guilty of fabricating a world in which I can live and invite others to live in, but outside of that I cannot breathe. I am guilty of too serious, too grave living, but never of shallow living. I have lived in the depths. My first tragedy sent me to the bottom of the sea; I live in a submarine, and hardly ever come to the surface. I love costumes, the foam of aesthetics, noblesse oblige, and poetic writers. At fifteen I wanted to be Joan of Arc, and later, Don Quixote. I never awakened from my familiarity with mirages, and I will end probably in an opium den. None of that is suitable for Harper’s Bazaar.
I am apparently gentle, unstable, and full of pretenses. I will die a poet killed by the nonpoets, will renounce no dream, resign myself to no ugliness, accept nothing of the world but the one I made myself. I wrote, lived, loved like Don Quixote, and on the day of my death I will say: ‘Excuse me, it was all a dream,’ and by that time I may have found one who will say: ‘Not at all, it was true, absolutely true."

Some mo fridge pomes I found:
In Kauklahti 30.5.2010 (not wrote down who writ what this time round...)

                             Sleep in delirious keep
& spend little
honest life
I am a woman & my 
silent secret is a 
long surprise
talk every other mind 
like no child
too soon dark voice
never like a joke

open flower hears 
true comfort
between tear and coffee
you almost slowly
cry ideas 
then must
strong day
how about some 
easy warm people
better laugh if my 
favorite thing is friendship
stay mean but give more
support near man
give with trust 
good matter
think time
only she can share
relaxed sweet

Credits to Ems, me sis, me mum n meself...

Prophet goes:

And a woman spoke, saying, Tell us of

And he said:

Your pain is the breaking of the shell that encloses
your understanding.

Even as the stone of the fruit must break, that its 
heart may stand in the sun, so must you know pain.

And could you keep your heart in wonder at the 
daily miracles of your life, your pain would not seem
less wondrous than your joy;

And you would accept the seasons of your heart,
even as you have always accepted the seasons that
pass over your fields.

And you would watch with serenity through the
winters of your grief.

Much of your pain is self-chosen.

It is the bitter potion by which the physician within
you heals your sick self.

Therefore trust the physician, and drink his remedy
in silence ad tranquility:

For his hand, though heavy and hard, is guided by 
the tender hand of the Unseen,

And the cup he brings, though it burn your lips, has
been fashioned of the clay which the Potter has
moistened with His own sacred tears.



Some o' the coolest shit me seen in a while:

Artist: Kay Nielsen

Found via:

in turn via the great and powerful:

this would be inerestin t see:


And the priestess spoke again and said:
Speak to us of Reason and Passion.

And he answered, saying:

Your soul is oftentimes a battlefield, upon which
your reason and your judgement wage war against
your passion and your appetite.

Would that I could be the peacemaker in your soul,
that I might turn the discord and rivalry of your 
elements into oneness and melody.

But how shall I, unless you yourselves be also the
peacemakers, nay, the lovers of all your elements? 

Your reason and your passion are the rudder and
the sails of your seafaring soul.

If either your sails or your rudder be broken, you
can but toss and drift, or else be held at a standstill
in mid-seas.

For reason, ruling alone, is a force confining; and
passion, unattended, is a flame that burns to its own

Therefore let your soul exalt your reason to the
height of passion, that it may sing;

And let it direct your passion with reason, that your
passion may live through its own daily resurrection,
and like the phoenix rise above its own ashes. 

I would have your consider your judgement and your
appetite even as you would two loved guests in your

Surely you would not honour one guest above the
other; for he who is more mindful of one loses the
love and faith of both. 

Among the hills, when you sit in the cool shade of
the white poplars, sharing the peace and serenity of 
distant fields and meadows - then let your heart say
in silence, ´God rests in reason.´

And when the storm comes, and the mighty wind
shakes the forest, and thunder and lighting
proclaim the majesty of the sky - then let your heart
say in awe, ´God moves in passion.´

And since you are the breath in God´s sphere, and a
leaf in God´s forest, you too should rest in reason
and move in passion.