All of this a lie, because you can’t remember the apple tree,
so it was never there, and I was never there, and
and I am just like my father, a liar who remembers things
that never happened, never were, in those spans of years
that were as unremarkable to you as the pressed apple blossoms
that tumbled from the pages of that yellowed, musty book
when I pulled it off the shelf.
Why can’t people just sit and read books and be nice to each other?
Reading time is precious. Don’t waste it. Reading bad books, or books that are wrong for a certain time in your life, can dangerously turn you off the activity altogether.
Gordon Samel, the moose hunter who unwittingly became a footnote in pop culture history when his 1992 discovery of the body of Christopher McCandless was detailed in John Krakauer’s Into the Wild, was shot and killed by police in Wasilla, Alaska, this past Sunday, according to the Anchorage Daily News. Samel—who…
"I hope it is true that a man can die and yet not only live in others but give them life, and not only life, but that great consciousness of life." Jack Kerouac
(March 12, 1922 - Oct. 21, 1969)
When you sit zazen, you notice your mental constructs and then let them go. You don’t hang on to them. But when you write fiction, you have to hang on to your mental constructs, first, for a very long period of time, before you let them go.
But having said this, I do think they complement each other. Zazen is good training, and it develops certain abilities that are useful for fiction writing: for example, the ability to sustain focus and concentration; or the ability to tune in to one’s body and mind and to pay attention to intuition; or the ability to notice what’s causing remorse and suffering.
Zen priest and novelist Ruth Ozeki, born on this day in 1956
You live and learn. At any rate, you live.
Douglas Adams, Mostly Harmless (via randomhouse)
Today is Douglas Adams’ birthday! If you haven’t had a chance to yet, pick up one of his books. And remember your towel.
The education of a Black American on how to be a Black American begins in the home, then spreads itself through experience and literature and misfortune and luck. Whether it was my parents’ intention or not, my home education left me without a sense of Black Pride and instead instilled only fear. Until my twenties I grew up thinking I didn’t want to be black—I just wanted to be a person, someone color-neutral. As a boy I understood that people were different but couldn’t understand why anyone made a big deal of it: I had found it strange, still find it strange the way race can be created simply by recognizing it.