A Quote by Catherynne M. Valente
You cannot escape where you come from, September. Some part of it remains inside you always, like the slender white heart in the center of the thickest onion.
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The question is not whether you would like to pray this prayer and ask Jesus to come into your heart - after all, you know, the handle to your heart is on the inside and if you do not open it Jesus cannot come in. My friend, Jesus is Lord of your heart and if He wants to come in, He will kick the door down.
Those who politically theorise the artificial concept of 'whiteness' infer that anyone who has white skin cannot escape their unconscious bias. If you object, you are accused of failing to come to terms with your white privilege.
Your center of mass is a place you cannot visit but you always carry with you. Like memories, it is part of life's baggage.
fter the O.J. Simpson trial there was talk about how the country was splitting in two - one part black, one part white. It was ludicrous: typical gringo arrogance. It's as though whites and blacks can imagine America only in terms of each other. It's mostly white arrogance, in that it places whites always at the center of the racial equation.
We usually center our narratives that come out of Hollywood from a white male center.
Every July, August and part of September I escape of the guitar, I escape of Paco de Lucia and I go to Mexico to the Carrabian. I have a little house there where I spend two months listening to music, no playing because I don't bring the guitar with me, fishing and cooking my fish and charging the batteries for new concerts.
A good hamburger mix: add equal parts black pepper, granulated garlic, grilled onion, onion powder and some chopped onion. And mix in a little barbecue sauce, which will add even more great flavor.
Life has always seemed to me like a plant that lives on its rhizome. Its true life is invisible, hidden in the rhizome. The part that appears above ground lasts only a single summer. Then it withers away—an ephemeral apparition. When we think of the unending growth and decay of life and civilizations, we cannot escape the impression of absolute nullity. Yet I have never lost a sense of something that lives and endures underneath the eternal flux. What we see is the blossom, which passes. The rhizome remains.
I admit it, I do like pickled red onion. I made some the other day. You just slice up the onion, pull it apart and you get these petals and you make a pickling liquid, I make mine sweet and sour.
Red like blood White like bone Red like solitude White like silence Red like the beastly instinct White like a god's heart Red like thawing hatred White like a frozen, pained cry Red like the night's hungry shadows Like a sigh piercing the moon it shines white and shatters red
The slender capacity of man's heart cannot comprehend the unfathomable depth and burning zeal of God's love toward us.
Not all the lyrics are topical - sometimes that is just the setting. They are all pretty much interpersonal. For some reason it's easier to write about people who are unsavory. It's like sometimes when you peel back an onion, there is mold inside.
We've come full circle but the best remains the heart of the city, the greatest center of the greatest city, our Acropolis, where our Christmas tree is lighted.
Yesterday, I did some painting then went out to buy an onion and came home and watched 'University Challenge.' The onion was probably the highlight.
So the first thing: become aware of death. Think about it, look at it, contemplate it. Do not be afraid, do not escape the fact. It is there and you cannot escape it! It has come into existence with you.
All men lie when they are afraid. Some tell many lies, some but a few. Some have only one great lie they tell so often that they almost come to believe it... though some small part of them will always know that it is still a lie, and that will show upon their faces. (a servant in the House of Black and White)
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