Yes, my joy wants to amuse.
Every joy wants to amuse.
Would you like to pick my roses?
You must stoop and stick your noses
between thorns and rocky views
and not be afraid of bruises
for my joy enjoys good ruses.
for my joy enjoys good muses.
Would you like to pick my roses?
Memory Revisited Too
Would you like to pick my roses?
You must stoop and stick your noses
between thorns and rocky views
and not be afraid of bruises
for my joy enjoys good ruses.
for my joy enjoys good muses.
yes, my joy wants to amuse.
Every joy wants to amuse.
Would you like to pick my roses?
hey, it’s been 20 years since I heard it.
Memory Revisited
Would you like to pick my roses?
You must stoop and stick your noses
between thorns and rocky views
and not be afraid of bruises
for my joy enjoys good ruses.
for my joy enjoys good muses.
Would you like to pick my roses?
Friend-o-fare
Nietzche wrote:
Would you like to pick my roses?
You must stoop and stick your noses
between thorns and rocky views
and not be afraid of muses.
and not be afraid of ruses.
Would you like to pick my roses?
How did something so beautiful not get picked up and digitized and ranked and organized and categorized and table identified and indexed even by google? I can’t find it. It’s like it’s lost to time, except in my memory. I could have plagiarized it even, if I wanted to mask it under my own Choosy Taste, the title given it by the translator from German into English, Walter Kaufman I believe. Alas, and alias is a mask, but not a thief.
The Teaching Company is where I learned of it. On their 54 hours of tape cassette on Great Minds of the Western Intellectual Tradition, which wears out.
Never you mind. Masks. Beautiful masks. Nietzche has much to say.
Glenn
Eleanor Rigby
Picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window
Wearing a face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?
kozandaishi
“Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead.”
―Mickey Rourke, Barfly (1987)
Cheeky Too
I think Mickey Rourke may have borrowed the joke from Charles Bukowski. Bukowski appears to have said it too, and I suspect Bukowski penned it first. Rourke, interestingly, had reconstructive face surgery. And both Bukowski and Rourke had drinking problems, which left them with old new faces in later life, youth (not attraction) pummeled. I think crazy Rourke and Bukowski enjoyed some things that are brought together beautifully here, under a Fish haze-filled room of humor, masking nothing but brutal reality’s depressed inner side.
Cheeky Too and a Half
Oh! Rourke was saying the words of Bukowski. Barfly was a kind of autobiography. I didn’t realize that. That movie is so depressing I think. Alcohol is no way to treat depression.
Cheeky
Bending philosophical, I’ll share my deepest thought with you, now that you challenge identity’s pride. Do any of us have a real self? Isn’t the mask-a-raid the meaning of moment between two sharing an aha? You live it, if you dare, mask-less, but no-body. What you decide to take off is only the lie to yourself, about right and wrong and cause and effect, piercing the other. When you’ve done raging with that, all exhausted, bewildered, you sit wondering what to do next. Maybe a few days, a few months, then years. There is nothing. You are just a sit-spot Buddha, happy & content if you have the courage to let go of your desires, or all melancholy if regret beget. All very cheeky, but actually true I think. You can’t escape meaninglessness. It’s all there is. When you have arrived, you are ready to go. And go you will in time, all of us, the same.
Yes, my joy wants to amuse.
Every joy wants to amuse.
Would you like to pick my roses?
You must stoop and stick your noses
between thorns and rocky views
and not be afraid of bruises
for my joy enjoys good ruses.
for my joy enjoys good muses.
Would you like to pick my roses?
Would you like to pick my roses?
You must stoop and stick your noses
between thorns and rocky views
and not be afraid of bruises
for my joy enjoys good ruses.
for my joy enjoys good muses.
yes, my joy wants to amuse.
Every joy wants to amuse.
Would you like to pick my roses?
hey, it’s been 20 years since I heard it.
Would you like to pick my roses?
You must stoop and stick your noses
between thorns and rocky views
and not be afraid of bruises
for my joy enjoys good ruses.
for my joy enjoys good muses.
Would you like to pick my roses?
Nietzche wrote:
Would you like to pick my roses?
You must stoop and stick your noses
between thorns and rocky views
and not be afraid of muses.
and not be afraid of ruses.
Would you like to pick my roses?
How did something so beautiful not get picked up and digitized and ranked and organized and categorized and table identified and indexed even by google? I can’t find it. It’s like it’s lost to time, except in my memory. I could have plagiarized it even, if I wanted to mask it under my own Choosy Taste, the title given it by the translator from German into English, Walter Kaufman I believe. Alas, and alias is a mask, but not a thief.
The Teaching Company is where I learned of it. On their 54 hours of tape cassette on Great Minds of the Western Intellectual Tradition, which wears out.
Never you mind. Masks. Beautiful masks. Nietzche has much to say.
Eleanor Rigby
Picks up the rice in the church where a wedding has been
Lives in a dream
Waits at the window
Wearing a face that she keeps in a jar by the door
Who is it for?
“Some people never go crazy. What truly horrible lives they must lead.”
―Mickey Rourke, Barfly (1987)
I think Mickey Rourke may have borrowed the joke from Charles Bukowski. Bukowski appears to have said it too, and I suspect Bukowski penned it first. Rourke, interestingly, had reconstructive face surgery. And both Bukowski and Rourke had drinking problems, which left them with old new faces in later life, youth (not attraction) pummeled. I think crazy Rourke and Bukowski enjoyed some things that are brought together beautifully here, under a Fish haze-filled room of humor, masking nothing but brutal reality’s depressed inner side.
Oh! Rourke was saying the words of Bukowski. Barfly was a kind of autobiography. I didn’t realize that. That movie is so depressing I think. Alcohol is no way to treat depression.
Bending philosophical, I’ll share my deepest thought with you, now that you challenge identity’s pride. Do any of us have a real self? Isn’t the mask-a-raid the meaning of moment between two sharing an aha? You live it, if you dare, mask-less, but no-body. What you decide to take off is only the lie to yourself, about right and wrong and cause and effect, piercing the other. When you’ve done raging with that, all exhausted, bewildered, you sit wondering what to do next. Maybe a few days, a few months, then years. There is nothing. You are just a sit-spot Buddha, happy & content if you have the courage to let go of your desires, or all melancholy if regret beget. All very cheeky, but actually true I think. You can’t escape meaninglessness. It’s all there is. When you have arrived, you are ready to go. And go you will in time, all of us, the same.
LOL!