Try as much as possible

to be wholly alive, with all your might. When you laugh, laugh like hell and when you get angry, get good and angry. Try to be alive. You will be dead soon enough.


William Saroyan.

Number 20

The pennycandystore beyond the El

       is where I first
                       fell in love
                                   with unreality
       Jellybeans glowed in the semi-gloom
       of that september afternoon
       A cat upon the counter moved among
                                 the licorice sticks
                      and tootsie rolls
              and Oh Boy Gum

       Outside the leaves were falling as they died

       A wind had blown away the sun

       A girl ran in 
       Her hair was rainy
       Her breasts were breathless in the little room

       Outside the leaves were falling
                            and they cried
                                         Too soon!  too soon!

A Coney Island of the Mind. Lawrence Ferlinghetti.    

ssssssh

One of the strange things about living in the world is that it is only now and then one is quite sure one is going to live forever and ever and ever. One knows it sometimes when one gets up at the tender solemn dawn-time and goes out and stands out and throws one's head far back and looks up and up and watches the pale sky slowly changing and flushing and marvelous unknown things happening until the East almost makes one cry out and one's heart stands still at the strange unchanging majesty of the rising of the sun--which has been happening every morning for thousands and thousands and thousands of years. One knows it then for a moment or so. And one knows it sometimes when one stands by oneself in a wood at sunset and the mysterious deep gold stillness slanting through and under the branches seems to be saying slowly again and again something one cannot quite hear, however much one tries. Then sometimes the immense quiet of the dark blue at night with the millions of stars waiting and watching makes one sure; and sometimes a sound of far-off music makes it true; and sometimes a look in someone's eyes." 

Frances Hodgson Burnett. The Secret Garden.


(Designer Cover by Lauren Child)

voluntary simplicity

is a manner of living that is outwardly more simple and inwardly more rich, a way of being in which our most authentic and alive self is brought into direct and conscious contact with living...the objective is not dogmatically to live with less, but is a more demanding intention of living with balance in order to find a life of greater purpose, fulfillment, and satisfaction

duane elgin.

via hearblack

From a very old book

Tea Making

Fill the kettle with fresh cold water, and set it on to boil. If soft water can be procured, it should always be used.

Never make the tea with water that has been long on the fire simmering, or that has been twice boiled. The natural acration* of the water is thrown off by long-continued heating, and the “hardness” of the water, or the proportion of mineral matter contained in it, is increased by the evaporation that takes place. The more rapidly the water is heated the better the tea.

Warm the teapot. Put in the tea in the proportion of one ounce to seven persons, or a teaspoonful for each person and a teaspoonful over. Pour on the boiling water, filling the teapot at once. The old-fashioned plan of “wetting the tea” and allowing it to stand on the hob to draw before filling the teapot extracts more tassin* and makes the flavour less delicate. Cover the teapot, and allow it to stand from five to seven minutes before pouring out. Take care that the teapot used is in right proportion to the number of persons. If the teapot is not filled, the tea cooks rapidly. If the tea is required in haste, while the water is coming to the boil put the tea into the teapot and stand it inside the oven until it is throughly hot through. Pour on the boiling water, and in one minute it will be ready to pour out.

Fine China teas are the best; but for breakfast more persons like a blend of China and Indian teas. Three parts of China teas to one of Indian is a good proportion.

*I couldn't make out these words

I was raised in the company of dolls.

My mother the miniaturist,

made pies the size of dolls.

My father, the shadowboxer,

talked only to the dark.

No one here remembers

the love of a chair for its ottoman

or the privacy of a shut door.

Windows grieve in their sashes.

They burn with interior light,

like blood oranges.

Imagine: a dollhouse in every room—

in every room, another room,

in every girl, another girl

looking out a tiny window,

her face repeated on the glass.

As two who could not pretend

to love each other,

we stared through grief.

Pupil, poupée, little doll

orphaned by the iris of my eye:

what did you see, what did you see

but that other girl in me,

the door to whose post was nailed

the smallest coffin,

hiding the name of God inside

like the rust in the mouth.

Preface. Robin Ekiss. The Mansion of Happiness.

Why, young friend, do you say that happiness doesn't exist?

That love is only an illusion? If true, why say it? And why say it, since it is true?

Long ago, you loved a gracious and beautiful woman who lived on the other side of the oceans and mountains. And you suffered from it.

Well, in that distant Orient where she hoped to share memorable moments with you, she remains gracious and beautiful. Head lowered and smiling, she is waiting for you. And every time my eyes meet hers. I know that love causes madness and happiness.

- One eyed Paritus, in his "Message to a Student Who Is Frightened of Becoming Old"

(Photograph from the Electric)