Rumi is my new Chinaski

The Many Wines - Rumi

God has given us a dark wine so potent that,

God has given us a dark wine so potent that,
drinking it, we leave the two worlds.

God has put into the form of hashish a power
to deliver the taster from self-consciousness.

God has made sleep so that
it erases every thought.

God made Majnun love Layla so much that
just her dog would cause confusion in him.

There are thousands of wines
that can take over our minds.

Don't think all ecstacies
are the same!

Jesus was lost in his love for God.
His donkey was drunk with barley.

Drink from the presence of saints,
not from those other jars.

Every object, every being,
is a jar full of delight.

Be a connoisseur,
and taste with caution.

Any wine will get you high.
Judge like a king, and choose the purest,

the ones unadulterated with fear,
or some urgency about "what's needed."

Drink the wine that moves you
as a camel moves when it's been untied,
and is just ambling about.

school spirit

Now beat that.
And your mothers saying "Go to college"
So you finish college and it's wonderful!
You feel so good
And after all the partying and crazing
And don't forget about that drug habit you picked up at school, being around your peers!
Hey! Now you'll get that 25 thou job a year and
You'll be spending all your money on crack cocaine, but it'll be your money
No more borrowing money from mom for my high!
So now you get your degree tattooed on your back. You're so excited about it.
If you continue to work at the GAP, after several interviews, Oh my god!
You'll come in at an entry level position. And when you do that,
If you kiss enough ass, you'll move up to the next level
Which is being a secretary's secretary!
And boy is that great. You get to take messages for the secretary
Who never went to college.
She's actually the boss's niece, so now you're part of the family.
You know what college does for you?
It makes you really smart, man.
All of you kids wanted to talk at the back of the class, not me, I listened. OK?
I was a hall monitor. This was meant to be.
You know how many classes I took? Extra classes, extra classes?
No I've never had sex, but you know what? My degree keeps me satisfied.
When a lady walks to me and says “Hey! You know what’s sexy?”
I say “No, I don’t know what it is but I bet I can add up all the change in your purse very fast.”

Shelley

I found an excerpt of this in Kusamakura, by Natsume Soseki and looked up the whole thing. The excerpted portion is bolded.

TO A SKYLARK

by: Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822)

AIL to thee, blithe Spirit!

Bird thou never wert,

That from Heaven, or near it,

Pourest thy full heart

In profuse strains of unpremeditated art.

Higher still and higher

From the earth thou springest

Like a cloud of fire;

The blue deep thou wingest,

And singing still dost soar, and soaring ever singest.

In the golden lightning

Of the sunken sun,

O'er which clouds are bright'ning,

Thou dost float and run;

Like an unbodied joy whose race is just begun.

The pale purple even

Melts around thy flight;

Like a star of Heaven,

In the broad daylight

Thou art unseen, but yet I hear thy shrill delight,

Keen as are the arrows

Of that silver sphere

Whose intense lamp narrows

In the white dawn clear

Until we hardly see -- we feel, that it is there.

All the earth and air

With thy voice is loud,

As, when night is bare,

From one lonely cloud

The moon rains out her beams, and Heaven is overflowed.

What thou art we know not;

What is most like thee?

From rainbow clouds there flow not

Drops so bright to see

As from thy presence showers a rain of melody.

Like a poet hidden

In the light of thought,

Singing hymns unbidden,

Till the world is wrought

To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not:

Like a high-born maiden

In a palace tower,

Soothing her love-laden

Soul in secret hour

With music sweet as love, which overflows her bower:

Like a glow-worm golden

In a dell of dew,

Scattering unbeholden

Its aërial hue

Among the flowers and grass, which screen it from the view:

Like a rose embowered

In its own green leaves,

By warm winds deflowered,

Till the scent it gives

Makes faint with too much sweet these heavy-wingèd thieves.

Sound of vernal showers

On the twinkling grass,

Rain-awakened flowers,

All that ever was,

Joyous, and clear, and fresh, thy music doth surpass:

Teach us, Sprite or Bird,

What sweet thoughts are thine:

I have never heard

Praise of love or wine

That panted forth a flood of rapture so divine.

Chorus Hymeneal,

Or triumphal chant,

Matched with thine would be all

But an empty vaunt,

A thing wherein we feel there is some hidden want.

What objects are the fountains

Of thy happy strain?

What fields, or waves, or mountains?

What shapes of sky or plain?

What love of thine own kind? what ignorance of pain?

With thy clear keen joyance,

Languor cannot be:

Shadow of annoyance

Never came near thee:

Thou lovest -- but ne'er knew love's sad satiety.

Waking or asleep,

Thou of death must deem

Things more true and deep

Than we mortals dream,

Or how could thy notes flow in such a crystal stream?

We look before and after,

And pine for what is not:

Our sincerest laughter

With some pain is fraught;

Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought.

Yet, if we could scorn

Hate, and pride, and fear;

If we were things born

Not to shed a tear,

I know not how thy joy we ever should come near.

Better than all measures

Of delightful sound,

Better than all treasures

That in books are found,

Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground!

Teach me half the gladness

That thy brain must know,

Such harmonious madness

From my lips would flow

The world should listen then -- as I am listening now.

rest.

From Seneca, Troades, Act II, Chorus - John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester

After death nothing is, and nothing, death:
The utmost limit of a gasp of breath.
Let the ambitious zealot lay aside
His hope of heaven, whose faith is but his pride;
Let slavish souls lay by their fear,
Nor be concerned which way nor where
After this life they shall be hurled.
Dead, we become lumber of the world,
And to that mass of matter shall be swept
Where things destroyed with things unborn are kept.
Devouring time swallows us whole;
Impartial death confounds body and soul.
For Hell and the foul fiend that rules
God’s everlasting fiery jails
(Devised by rogues, dreaded by fools),
With his grim, grisly dog that keeps the door,
Are senseless stories, idle tales,
Dreams, whimseys, and no more.


I can feel Rochester's vulnerability. His weariness is palpable. You may see a poem about nihilism and anti-religious sentiments. But I just see a man who is tired, like I am tired, and is looking forward to the day when he can rest.

Lessons on Story. Part 1: Batman needs Joker

Lesson 1: Batman needs Joker (pg.1-2 of The Odyssey-homer)

Immediately from the beginning of the odyssey we are thrown in the middle of our hero odysseus' journey. while there are many important things to take note of, (the effect of starting in the middle. the way a character is described by others. the use of telling what events are to come) something that I know I lack as I start to write my novel is the antagonist. In the first few pages of the epic of epics, Odysseus is described to be in favor of the gods but opposed by Poseidon for the blinding of his son, the cyclops, Polyphemus. While Athena spearheads the charge to bring Odysseus home, the gods remind her of the anger and wrath of Poseidon, "the earth-shaker."

The reason an antagonist is many-fold. First, the clearer the portrait of a villain, the more clearly we can define a hero. A rapport between the reader and the characters must be developed. This is best done by giving a simple concept of a character. Audiences get behind subjects they can get their finger on.

Now that a character is defined, the teller of the tale needs to engage an audience and rally them behind the fight of their main character, whether the demons be on a mountain breathing fire or at the bottom of a bottle. It's important to bring the audience to care about the main character and fortunately, (for storytellers, unfortunate for postmodernists) this can be done by taking advantage of the polarized nature of our world. I don't mean simply utilizing the "good vs. evil" structure but the fact that the world has decided to take a dichotomous view on itself. Attaching a face to his opposition is powerful tool. It is here that a villain is introduced. Conflict can now take place. The polarization of sides is vital for the clarity of an issue and most importantly, a reader's sympathy and interest.

While we all know the world is one of shades of gray, the strongest feelings and actions come associated with the black and white. The heroes we cheer for in the greatest stories show their mettle against the villainy of their foil.

"But surely as the post-modern zen master you are Sunroot, you believe this villainization to be a grievous evil!" you say. I agree. However, blurring the lines too early makes that hard. I believe the best characters are those who show the vulnerabilities and realities of a person in a gray world. The best stories break down this paradigm and in doing so cause us to change the ways we interpret our own lives and the people around us. They convey heroes in moments of weakness or villains with good intentions and bring us to understand people who are unlike us.
In order to tell a good story and a strong story you must walk on the line between over-simplifying character and losing your audience. In this, the nuances of storytelling are tested and the skill of a teller is revealed.

All this to say that I need to begin building a central conflict. My hero cannot merely journey. He must fight. Otherwise, who cares?