Repetition is the death of art. by Robin Green

Repetition is the death of art.

Robin Green

Image Embed Code

Categorized in : Art Repetition

I started concentrating so hard on my vision that I lost sight. by Robin Green

I started concentrating so hard on my vision that I lost sight.

vision sight lost

Ladies and gentlemen, today we're here to honor electricity, the charge that charges everything from those electrons snapping in our brain to our father the sun. What's the sun It's kind of like a brain. Electromagnetic field, solar flares sparking back and forth from those nerve cells. We're all one, folks, giant blobs of electricity, all of us. Positive & negative, electromagnetic fields just circling each other. Positive, negative, north, south, male and female. Looking for that electric moment. Magnet to magnet, opposites attract.

cells opposites father

Happiness just wasn't part of the job description back then. You tried to find a helpmate to keep the cold wind and dogs at bay. Happiness just wasn't part of the equation. Survival was.

dog wind jobs

For people to judge a man's worth and his very manhood according to the way he feels about sport, and not to recognize it for the piddly, inconsequential goings on that it really is.

sports men people

My masculinity isn't hinged on whether or not I knit. by Robin Green

My masculinity isn't hinged on whether or not I knit.

masculinity

The fact that when we die we are nothing more than worm meat---I... by Robin Green

The fact that when we die we are nothing more than worm meat---I just don't think about it.

meat facts thinking

I think it's them...Men. They have no fortitude. They're always dying or skedaddling off at the first sign of trouble. So tell me this, who is left to pick up the pieces, ship the body. clean out the closets Us And they have the audacity to call us the weaker sex.

You think a man is a man cause he wears team colors and guzzles beer in front of the tube Can't you see, boys, the sands of time are dribbling through the hourglass

The Eagle wasn't always the Eagle. The Eagle, before he became the Eagle, was Yucatangee, the Talker. Yucatangee talked and talked. It talked so much it heard only itself. Not the river, not the wind, not even the Wolf. The Raven came and said The Wolf is hungry. If you stop talking, you'll hear him. The wind too. And when you hear the wind, you'll fly. So he stopped talking. And became its nature, the Eagle. The Eagle soared, and its flight said all it needed to say.

I have seen men fly bombers with their faces half- blown away. You're going to allow a few algebra formulas to ground you

Dr. Joel Fleischman in nature. Not exactly the man you knew. He couldn't see past the Hudson River if he tried. He liked his fish smoked or preferable hand sliced from Zabars on a sliced bagel served with onions. Nature, to him, was an irritant. Birds didn't sing, they woke him up. A body of water wasn't life, it was a golf hazard..

I am...blood. That primordial ooze. Not out there, listeners, in here. Inside this skin we wear, it only lets us think we're something else-- nice clean brains, little talking computers running around in the pursuit of happiness. We pierce this skin and what do we see Warm ooze, protoplasm churning and jesting, defecating, pulsating, life, death.

Spring has sprung. We're free at last, people. Free at last. Thank you mother nature, we're free. Time to toss open that metaphysical window and check out that psychic landscape. See lots of possibilities budding out there. Time to hoe those rows, feed that seed. Pretty soon you get a garden.

That's the whole thing with the hog. It's you and 80 wild horses under your butt, just sitting on 10 square inches where the rubber meets the road. That hurricane gale wind whipping you in the face, leaning into a curve you can feel that gravity wanting to suck you down into it and what do you do Give it a little more gas. Pure centrifugal force. You can see yourself hurtling ass end over teakettle into oblivion.

Time is just something that we assign. You know, past, present, it's just all arbitrary. Most Native Americans, they don't think of time as linear in time, out of time, I never have enough time, circular time, the Stevens wheel. All moments are happening all the time.

You've got your phenomenon on one hand. Concrete and knowable. On the other hand you've got the incomprehensible. You call it God, but to me, God or no, it remains just that, the unknowable.