Saturday, March 28, 2009

since ive quit drinking i end up finding this stuff all night. which im okay with.










toast has the other side of the story

Friday, March 27, 2009








Wednesday, March 25, 2009






Tuesday, March 24, 2009







Saturday, March 21, 2009

you are not fucking around

good ol' days


Tuesday, March 17, 2009

jesus


i am irish and i hate st. patricks day. deal with it. i have no desire to go out and spend money to hang out with kooks like this.

Thursday, March 12, 2009

this happened over the weekend. fucking pigs

Wednesday, March 4, 2009

dear summer


i need you in my life

Sunday, March 1, 2009

ben and i put this together a little while ago. filmed during the warmer months of last year

video

this letter is so great i had to repost it.

Monday, Jan 28, 1957


Dear Edie,

That was a beautiful letter you wrote me. I read some of it to Lucien later on.

You know, Before Joan died, when I saw her in 1950, she said you were the greatest person (I think she said nicest) she had ever known.

As for Willy B., he's queening around now but as ever he never bothers me with that. Instead we take long walks in the evening with hands clasped behind our backs, conversing politely. He is a great gentleman and as you may know, has become a great writer, in fact all the bigwigs are afraid of him (W.H. Auden, etc.) Yes, he knows we're coming in February, late.

Allen never loses track of me even when I try to hide. He does me many favors publicizing my name. Well, we're old friends anyway. But I can't keep up the hectic “fame” life he wants and so I won't stay with them long in Tangiers. I'm going to get me a quiet hut by the sea on the Spanish coast, then join them in Paris in the Spring.

“Escaping reality to go into simplicity is just what I do, except I regard reality as being simplicity. That is, God is Alone. Dont worry, I eat plenty, I have my cook kit in my pack and make delicious food wherever I go, when I have to. In NY naturally everybody invites me to big dinners in homes. But like in Spain and Europe, I'll make me pancakes and syrup with black coffee for breakfast, boil me big post of Boston baked beans with salt port and molasses, make salads, eat French bread, cheese and dates for dessert. Etc.

I'll write you and you keep writing and if you suddenly get the impulse to see Europe I'll be here to show you around.

I have never left you either, and had many dreams f you, wild dreams where we're wandering in dark alleys of Mexico looking for a place to bang, etc.

I want to end my life as an old man in a shack in the woods, and I'm leading up to that soon as I dig the whole world including the orient. I'm invited to a Buddhist Monastery in Japan and will go withing 5 years. Also other things. Make movies too, later. I'll have more money than I need. Or maybe only what I need. I'm glad to send my mother her reward, think eventually I'll take her out to California and get her a little rose covered cottage, and get me a shack for half the time, in the wild hills beyond Mount Tamalpais.

Hearing your voice at night over the phone , in a hotel where I'd gone to hide out to work, was like a strange and beautiful dream. You sounded warmer and more mature. You will always be a great woman. I have a lot of things to teach you now, in case we ever meet, concerning the message that was transmitted to me under a pine tree in North Carolina on a cold winter moonlit night. It said that Nothing Ever Happened, so dont worry. It's all like a dream. Everything is ecstasy, inside. We just don't know it because of our thinking-minds. But in our true blissful essence of mind is known that everything is alright forever and forever and forever. Close your eyes, let your hands and nerve-ends drop, stop breathing for 3 seconds, listen to the silence inside the illusion of the world, and you will remember the lesson you forgot, which was taught in immense milky ways of cloudy innumberable worlds long ago and not even at all. It is all one vast awakened thing. I call it the golden eternity. It is perfect. We were never really born, we will never really die. It has nothing to do with the imaginary idea of a personal self, other selves, many selves everywhere, or one universal self. Self is only an idea, a mortal idea. That which passes through everything, is one thing. It's a dream already ended. There's nothing from staring at mountains months on end. They never show any expression, they are like empty space. Do you think the emptiness of space will ever crumble away. Mountains will crumble, but the emptiness of space, which is the one universal essence of mind, the one vast awakenerhood, empty and awake, will never crumble away because it was never born.

The world you see is just a movie in your mind.

Your eternal old man,

Jack