There's something about an old wood door --
ornate (but on some humdrum street)
that makes one wonder if it's more
than its neighbors -- something offbeat:
Perhaps, a portal into Hell,
a Speakeasy of unknown vice,
a smelly cheese smuggling cartel,
a school for wizards, imprecise.
where hill meets clouds:
knuckles of a Hulk-like fist
spark a daydream.
What is this cloud above my head
on such a sunny day?
You may think it foreshadows rain.
I think that it brings play.
Yes. Frenetic and chaotic creativity.
The answer depends upon stress.
If it’s, “How are YOU creative?” then I think the question is a little insulting and I wouldn’t dignify it with a response.
If: “How are you CREATIVE?” (then it’s missing a comma before the last word, but) I’ll just say, “Very well, thanks for asking.”
If: “How ARE you creative?” Then I’ll assume it’s as opposed to how I was creative in the past, and would reply, “Better, thanks for asking.”
If: “HOW are you creative?” The answer is, of course, “practice!”
Embrace play, go hog wild with imagination, and have a short memory for adversity.
The aim of introduction is to conceal a person’s identity.
George Mikes, How To Be an Alien
From the beginning our philosophers have tried to teach us how to die,
Jonathan weiner, Long for this world
and our poets have taught us that to contemplate death
is to learn to live.
Nothing is harder to see into than people’s natures.
Zhuge liang [a.k.a. Kongming], The WAy of the General
To know how to eat is to know how to live.
Auguste Escoffier
Reality can be beaten with enough imagination.
Mark twain
After dark —-
A city park —-
There runs the thing
That comes to life
By night.
Caged in stillness
Through sunlit hours.
Its night persona
Is blurred movement
Seen only from the
Corner of an eye.
It stays near deep shadow,
Beyond the lamp lit arcs.
Where is it?
No one knows,
But if one were to
Check the cathedral
Spire, you’d find
Only an impenetrable
Void…
until sunup.
Splendid thoughts arise from joined words --
Lucidity is awakened:
Luminous like adorned brocade,
Doleful as a string serenade.
But if crib suspicions aren't killed,
It'll be just one more pulp piece.
Though you may be these word's weaver--
Some ancestor, the prime conceiver.
You must be just and rise above,
Though it kills words you've grown to love.
The original lines in Simplified Chinese:
或藻思绮合，清丽千眠。
炳若缛绣，凄若繁弦。
必所拟之不殊，乃暗合乎曩篇。
虽杼轴于予怀，怵佗人之我先。
苟伤廉而愆义，亦虽爱而必捐。
Wonder—is not precisely Knowing
And not precisely Knowing not—
A beautiful but bleak condition
He has not lived who has not felt—
Suspense—is his maturer Sister—
Whether Adult Delight is Pain
Or of itself a new misgiving—
This is the Gnat that mangles men—
Tiger Riding for Beginners 