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If we must die, let it not be like hogs Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot, While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs, Making their mock at our accursèd lot. If we must die, O let us nobly die, So that our precious blood may not be shed In vain; then even the monsters we defy Shall be constrained to honor us though dead! O kinsmen! we must meet the common foe! Though far outnumbered let us show us brave, And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow! What though before us lies the open grave? Like men we’ll face the murderous, cowardly pack, Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!

Water the plants. Drink plenty of water. Don’t hear the news. Get bored. Complain about the weather. Keep a corkscrew in your purse. Swipe right sometimes. Don’t smile unless you want to. Sleep in. Don’t see the news. Remember what the world is like for white people. Listen to cricket songs. Floss. Take pills. Keep an empty mind. When you are hungover do not say I’m never drinking again. Be honest when you’re up to it. Otherwise drink water lie to yourself turn off the news burn the papers skip the funerals take pills laugh at dumb shit fuck people you don’t care about use the crockpot use the juicer use the smoothie maker drink water from the sky don’t think too much about the sky don’t think about water skip the funerals close your eyes whenever possible When you toast look everyone in the eyes Never punctuate the President Write the news Turn into water Water the fire escape Burn the paper Crumble the letters Instead of hyacinths pick hydrangeas Water the hydrangeas Wilt the news White the hydrangeas Drink the white Waterfall the cricket songs Keep a song mind Don’t smile Don’t wilt funeral funeral

If you catch a firefly and keep it in a jar You may find that you have lost A tiny star. If you let it go then, back into the night, You may see it once again Star bright.

If you’re fond of road-blocks, this one can’t be beat: A big tree in the middle of the street.

I need everything else Anything else Desperately But I have nothing Shall have nothing but this Immediate, inescapable and invaluable No one can afford THIS Being made here and now (Seattle, Washington 17 May, 1955) MARIGOLDS Concise (wooden) Orange. Behind them, the garage door Pink (Paint sold under a fatuous name: "Old Rose" which brings a war to mind) And the mind slides over the fence again Orange against pink and green Uncontrollable! Returned of its own accord It can explain nothing Give no account What good? What worth? Dying! You have less than a second To live To try to explain: Say that light in particular wave-lengths or bundles wobbling at a given speed Produces the experience Orange against pink Better than a sirloin steak? A screen by Korin? The effect of this, taken internally The effect of beauty on the mind There is no equivalent, least of all These objects Which ought to manifest A surface disorientation, pitting Or striae Admitting some plausible interpretation But the cost Can't be expressed in numbers dodging between a vagrancy rap and the newest electrical brain-curette Eating what the rich are bullied into giving Or the poor willingly share Depriving themselves More expensive than ambergris Although the stink isn't as loud. (A few Wise men have said, "Produced the same way . . . Vomited out by sick whales.") Valuable for the same qualities Staying-power and penetration I've squandered every crying dime.

In town it was very urban but in the country cows were covering the hills. The clouds were near and very moist. I was walking along the pavement with Anna, enjoying the scattered scenery. Suddenly a sound like a deep bell came from behind us. We both turned to look. “It’s the words you spoke in the past, coming back to haunt you,” Anna explained. “They always do, you know.” Indeed I did. Many times this deep bell-like tone had intruded itself on my thoughts, scrambling them at first, then rearranging them in apple-pie order. “Two crows,” the voice seemed to say, “were sitting on a sundial in the God-given sunlight. Then one flew away.” “Yes . . .and then?” I wanted to ask, but I kept silent. We turned into a courtyard and walked up several flights of stairs to the roof, where a party was in progress. “This is my friend Hans,” Anna said by way of introduction. No one paid much attention and several guests moved away to the balustrade to admire the view of orchards and vineyards, approaching their autumn glory. One of the women however came to greet us in a friendly manner. I was wondering if this was a “harvest home,” a phrase I had often heard but never understood. “Welcome to my home . . . well, to our home,” the woman said gaily. “As you can see, the grapes are being harvested.” It seemed she could read my mind. “They say this year’s vintage will be a mediocre one, but the sight is lovely, nonetheless. Don’t you agree, Mr. . . .” “Hans,” I replied curtly. The prospect was indeed a lovely one, but I wanted to leave. Making some excuse I guided Anna by the elbow toward the stairs and we left. “That wasn’t polite of you,” she said dryly. “Honey, I’ve had enough of people who can read your mind. When I want it done I’ll go to a mind reader.” “I happen to be one and I can tell you what you’re thinking is false. Listen to what the big bell says: ‘We are all strangers on our own turf, in our own time.’ You should have paid attention. Now adjustments will have to be made.”

if your complexion is a mess our elixir spells skin success you’ll have appeal bewitch be adored hechizando con crema dermoblanqueadora what we sell is enlightenment nothing less than beauty itself since when can be seen in the dark what shines hidden in dirt double dutch darky take kisses back to Africa they dipped you in a vat at the wacky chocolate factory color we’ve got in spades melanin gives perpetual shade though rhythm’s no answer to cancer pancakes pale and butter can get rancid

Outside the igloo he waited for an invitation to come inside. There was no knocker, no doorbell. He coughed, there was no reply. He crouched down and peered in. He felt the warm air from a fire pat his cheeks and ruffle his hair. Hello he said quietly and repeated it. The frost in his toes urged him in, so did the pain in his gut. His knees one by one welcomed the snow and brought him into the warmth. He stood up and breathed deeply. He held a foot up to the flames then swapped it for the other foot. He lay down on the polar bear rug but a smell yanked him upright again and led him to a dresser of  bone where a bowl sat with a cover on it. He lifted this to reveal dried meat. He grabbed a chunk and tore at it with his teeth. It was reindeer. He devoured all that was in the bowl and went looking for some more. He found none, but there was a bottle of firewater which he swigged. He swigged again and left it down. He lay on the bearskin and fell asleep.

Then one day she noticed the forest had begun to bleed into her waking life. There were curved metal plates on the trees to see around corners. She thought to brush her hand against his thigh. She thought to trace the seam of his jeans with her thumbnail. The supersaturated blues were beginning to pixillate around the edges, to become a kind of grammar. She placed a saucer of water under her lamp and counted mosquitoes as they drowned. Soot amassed in drifts in the corners of the room. She pressed her thumb into the hollow of his throat for a while and then let him go.

HOMONCULUS: n., pl. –li 2. a fully formed, miniature human body believed, according to some medical theories of the 16th and 17th centuries, to be contained in the spermatozoon — The Random House Dictionary of the English Language The political contributions of whatever he creates are coincidental and, in any event, irrelevant. The musician may not be relying on mathematical acoustics in his calculations. He may be performing for auditoriums; thus, his physical realities change as he travels. Music seems inevitable. Every question entails some notion of what is being asked. The motley nature is not alien. Certain sounds guide the vulgar mind to notions not anticipated by those creating the sounds. A bartender concocts an Absolut Citroen gimlet, ice-cold but no ice, with one hand; “with the other hand he gathers up gonorrhea.” Most of what is imparted is not verbal. Certain philosophers must be translated before their audiences can respond. The mind is made visible through unconscious functions. The academic is always searching for the plumber. He is faithful to innocence. Order is space and space is order. Order is space and space is order. After being disaffected with Impressionism, Renoir felt he had to learn to draw and paint all over again. In Germany, an aesthetic movement became political and was forced to renounce art without realizing a decision had been made. A philosopher did not realize that the man who expelled poetry from well-ordered republics used to tremble at the thought of doing so, thereby creating through that very act a sublime poetry.