Lonesome Liz's Mojo Menagerie

Official stream of consciousness page of Outlaw Magazine's Lonesome Liz

Posts tagged literature

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The road has its own reasons and no two travelers will have the same understanding of those reasons. If indeed they come to an understanding of them at all.
Cormac McCarthy, The Crossing (via liquidnight)

Filed under literature mccarthy

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It’s hard to say what you mean to say… unless you’re Bob Dylan… and then you can be a rollin’ stone…
wise woman of Warren County, Ky. Recorded by L. L.

Filed under dylan quotes literature

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urePerhaps it’s done already, perhaps they have said me already, perhaps they have carried me to the threshold of my story, before the door that opens on my story, that would surprise me, if it opens, it will be I, it will be the silence, where I am, I don’t know, I’ll never know, in the silence you don’t know, you must go on, I can’t go on, I’ll go on.
Samuel Beckett  (via thebardofavon)

Filed under beckett literature

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The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life? Answer. That you are here—that life exists and identity, that the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.
Walt Whitman

Filed under poetry whitman literature

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eEven in Goethe we come across heavy lines, even in him we can be confronted by lack of clarity or banality of thought. It is not a question of thought, or of colour, or of faithfulness to literary rules; it is something else, living but incomprehensible, something that will always elude any definition of artistic genius…the clearest of images of the great artists and their words are never clear to the end, rather as the limpid sky over our heads, when we gaze into it, turns out to be not pale blue at all, but a darker shade, deeper, fathomless. And so the works of great genius, for all their crystalline clarity, will sometimes make us gaze apprehensively into their depths, and define the clarity as the clarity of the deep…and that is all; what lies at the bottom of those depths eludes us.

Andrey Bely, The Tragedy of Art, ‘Dostoievsky and Tolstoy’.

A quote featured in Andrey Tarkovsky’s diary entry, November 10, 1980.

from Time Within Time: The Diaries, Andrey Tarkovsky.

The passages highlighted by my father (years ago) in particular are intriguing to me.

(via harpy)

(via libraryland)

Filed under literature goethe tolstoy dostoyevsky

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The Clown

From Lonesome Liz’s Mojo Sideshow: http://lonesomelizmojosideshow.blogspot.com

I was just clowning around!

A clown’s face hides much; including age.

It also hides sadness, enui and rage.

Whatever it is that you’ve been told,

I promise you, I was much too old

to act on my antics.

I was just a romantic.

Ah! She was a sight

when she’d bend, plates all a-spin!

The most beautiful girl I’d ever seen.

I dreamed

that I was no longer a man

who was laughable and

I dreamed I had her heart.

She wasn’t very smart.

She clung to rather provincial rules.

She made it clear she thought me a fool.

Unthinkingly, as she did most things,

as easy as a small bird sings,

she told the Acrobat.

And that was that.

I never saw him coming.

He was so good at tumbling.

I was just clowning around!

My body was never found.

They knew I was dead

because they found my head.

Filed under poetry literature molly crabapple theater plays

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The Leader of the Team of Fantastic Twirlers of Plates

From ‘Lonesome Liz’s Mojo Sideshow’. The Mojo Sideshow features art by Molly Crabapple, Wes Freed, (Drive-by Truckers), Katelan Foisy and more.

http://lonesomelizmojosideshow.blogspot.com 

 was born the nervous type.

I remained so all my life;

eighteen long years, filled with strife.

Each year brutal, stealthy as a knife.

It wasn’t so strange, the not breathing, you know.

I’d always lost my breath with each chill wind’s blow.

A lot of them blew.

Let me tell you…

It was really more than a little late

when I became a fantastic twirler of plates.

Most begin the trade at three or four;

six at the most. I was more

than thirteen.

Somehow, the team

found quickly I bested them all.

I could twirl more plates, no matter how tall

the stack the others spun.

What an odd, funny fate. 

To lead a team of fantastic twirlers of plates.

I deeply loved the Acrobat.

That’s a fact.

He was as lovely as the dwan.

I was happy. Till I found what went on

inside his head.

It’s been said

mine was a particularly gruesome demise.

Oh, he lies!

He says strangle’s all he did.

What he didn’t tell you is, he hid

my body in seven places or so.

He put my toes where the four winds blow.

That’s why I walk

but do not talk

through my throat.

That’s all she wrote.

Filed under poetry poems literature