"By a symbol, I do not mean an allegory or a sign, but an image that describes in the best possible way the dimly discerned nature of the spirit. A symbol does not define or explain; it points beyond itself to a meaning that is darkly divined yet still beyond our grasp, and cannot be adequately expr
On Mortality, Perspective, and the Forgotten Art of Being Alive: By Erik RittenberryPhoto: Erik RittenberryThe older we get, the more the ghosts crowd and claim us. Death does not deter the dead from living on within us and around us. We are under their spell. The world becomes irrevocably haunted.—
By: Octavio PazThe purpose of poetry is to restore to mankind the possibility to wonder. — Octavio PazText within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedPoetry is knowledge, salvation, power abandonment. An operation capable of changing the world, poetic activity is revolutionar
By: Erich FrommArt: Kavan the KidThe more the drive toward life is thwarted, the stronger is the drive toward destruction; the more life is realized, the less is the strength of destructiveness. Destructiveness is the outcome of unlived life.— Erich FrommTo create life is to transcend one’s status a
What’s become of the living?“There’s intoxication enough for me in just existing. Drunk on feeling, I drift but never stray…I’m just the same. But behind this sameness, I secretly scatter my personal firmament with stars and therein create my own infinity.” — Fernando PessoaThe Book of Disquiet, one
On the Death of Jack Kerouac“Vanity of vanities… all is vanity. You kill yourself to get to the grave. Especially you kill yourself to get to the grave before you die; and the name of the grave is ‘success’, the name of that grave is hullabullo boom boom horseshit.” —Jack KerouacThe legendary Beat w
From dawn to dusk I’m drunk and singing,lovesick with every new spring. —Yu Xuanji Introduction by Leonard Ng:The Tang Dynasty poetess Yu Xuanji lived roughly between the years 844 and 868 in the capital city of Chang’an (present-day Xi’an). She was executed in her early to mid-twenties for the murd
By: Robert Pogue HarrisonCaspar David Friedrich, Moonrise over the Sea, 1822DURING THE EARLY MIDDLE AGES, THE NORTHERN FORESTS of Europe were still vast, stretching across the continent like domes of darkness and the indifference of time. Interspersed throughout them were smaller or larger settlemen
I don’t like the word ‘poetry,’ and I don’t like poetry readings, and I usually don’t like poets. I would much prefer describing myself and what I do as: I’m kind of a curator, and I’m kind of a night-owl reporter. —Tom WaitsPoetry is a very dangerous word.It's very misused. Most people, when they h
By: Erik RittenberryPhoto: Erik Rittenberry“I believe that if an individual is not on the path to transcending his society and seeing in what way it furthers or impedes the development of human potential, he cannot enter into intimate contact with his humanity.”—Erich FrommAs the world spirals deepe
“I’ve got my theories. My theory is that a vigorous, free, outdoors life is good for people. It fills them with cheer and high spirits, leading to health and a long life.” —Edward AbbeyWilderness complements and completes civilization. I might say that the existence of wilderness is also a complimen
By: Tom RussellOctober in the Railroad Earth is a critically acclaimed studio album by American singer-songwriter Tom Russell, described by Russell himself as “Jack Kerouac meets Johnny Cash... in Bakersfield.” The title track draws heavily from Jack Kerouac’s prose-poem and his time as a railroad
Early 20th Century absurdity captured in six profound literary passages“The absurd is born of this confrontation between the human need and the unreasonable silence of the world.” — Albert CamusWhat happens when God goes silent, meaning and values collapse, and man is left alone to confront the terr
A few Poems to usher in the Fall SeasonPhoto: Erik RittenberryThe bus roared on. I was going home in October. Everybody goes home in October.—Jack KerouacText within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedO hushed October morning mild, Thy leaves have ripened to the fall; Tomorr
By: Enrique Vila-MatasSeptember 23, 1910. This is the last picture of Leo Tolstoy. At the end of his days, Tolstoy considered literature to be a curse and turned it into the most obsessive object of his hatred. Then he gave up writing, because he said that writing was more responsible than anything
“The world of men has forgotten the joys of silence, the peace of solitude, which is necessary, to some extent, for the fullness of human living. Man cannot be happy for long unless he is in contact with the springs of spiritual life which are hidden in the depths of his own soul. If man is exiled c
MAN WATERING HIS LAWNA middle-aged man with a dented straw hat a pot belly and shorts waters his front lawn with an air of defiance as if he were challenging the gods, both hands clenched tight around his flailing hose. The gods hit him with the daily news, bills, his daughter's dreadful boyfriends
Esoteric, mystical, and forbidden books for those who suspect reality is far deeper than we've been told.Photography: Patrick Zachmann“True, the world still stands or spins, but the meaning has gone out of it. It is more dead, this illusory, everyday world, than if it had been shattered by a million
By: Elizabeth BishopPhoto: Erik RittenberryText within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedOh, but it is dirty! —this little filling station, oil-soaked, oil-permeated to a disturbing, over-all black translucency. Be careful with that match! Father wears a dirty, oil-soaked
By: Fernando PessoaArt: Henri PrestesMy soul is a hidden orchestra; I know not what instruments, what fiddlestrings and harps, drums and tambours I sound and clash inside myself. All I hear is the symphony. — PessoaOne day, when all knowledge ceases, the door beyond will open and everything that we
