Once life is finished it acquires a sense, up to that point it has not got a sense, its sense is suspended and therefore ambiguous.
---PIER PAOLO PASOLINI
Illusions mistaken for truth are the pavement under our feet. They are what we call civilization.
Brace yourself. The American Empire is over and the descent is going to be horrifying.
Start learning to love by loving the people you cannot like. The more you remember others with kindness and generosity, the more you forget your self and when you forget yourself completely, you find God.
GO GREEN WITH BLUEGRASS. IT'S NATURAL.
---TIM WHITE, banjo the VWBoys
DEATH CANNOT HARM ME MORE THAN YOU HAVE HARMED ME, MY BELOVED LIFE.
The beliefs and opinions of a person often constitute a very superficial layer of the human psyche. They do not have any integral relationship with the deeper psychic forces. They remain in one region of the mind without bringing about any radical changes in the core of personality, which determines the attitude to life.
Justice is what love looks like in public.
--- Cornell West
Everyone thinks of changing the world, but no one thinks of changing himself.
The mountains don't lie to you; they stand for the things that don't change, that stay true to themselves. They've been around a hundred million years and they'll be around a good while more, I reckon. They keep you humble. They put you in your place.
NOT KNOWING IS TRUE KNOWLEDGE. PRESUMING TO KNOW IS A DISEASE.
-Tao te ching #71
There are more love songs than anything else. If songs could make you do something we'd all love one another.
on playing a banjo:
WHEN YOU SCREW UP TRY TO COVER IT UP LIKE A CAT.
---Wiley Maxwell, Jr.
ACTION IS MORE IMPORTANT THAN PRAYER.
THE WHOLE SECRET LIES IN CONFUSING THE ENEMY SO HE CANNOT FATHOM OUR REAL INTENT.
Sun Tzu The Art of War
WE'LL KNOW OUR DISINFORMATION PROGRAM IS COMPLETE WHEN EVERYTHING THE AMERICAN PEOPLE BELIEVE IS FALSE.
---Wm Casey CIA Director 1981
In this unbroken intense booming symphony, suddenly there is the tinkling of a bell so faint that I almost think I am hearing things. It is like the trembling cry of a cicada on a late autumn night. It is so ephemeral, so delicate, so pitiful, yet it is so distinct and clear above the chaotic booming of the drum that it is unmistakable.