A Quote by Criss Jami
Anger's like a battery that leaks acid right out of me And it starts from the heart til it reaches my outer me
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This is the pain pacemaker. I've got a battery under my skin. From that battery are two electrodes that go into the spine where they cut bone away to accommodate it. Now I put on the power here. If I have the pain, the stimulator starts. It's tingling, like when your foot falls asleep, you know?
It's usually a big kind of vent of frustration or anger or sadness that puts me in the right frame of mind to write. It's such a cliche to say that artists write when they're down, but it's true for me. It's a relief to get out what's eating away at my heart or my soul or my head.
Boxing was a way to express my anger. All of a sudden, I was expressing anger, and I was good at it. I was like a Jekyll and Hyde. Boxing helped me because I was fighting the anger out. I was knocking guys out.
The Obama administration does not hate unauthorized leaks of classified information. They are more responsible for such leaks than anyone. What they hate are leaks that embarrass them or expose their wrongdoing. Those are the only kinds of leaks that are prosecuted.
Enthusiasm reaches out with joy, for there is nothing depressing about it; it reaches out in faith, for there is no fear in it; it reaches out with acceptance, for there is no doubt in it; it reaches out as a child for there is no uncertainty about it.
Atom bombs, something's wrong. D.E.A sent to Guam. Acid Trips, big fat chics. Purple Finstone Vitamins.All the needy rich are greedy. I find out you don't need me. Berlin wall starts to fall. I trip out to the wall. Hooray Horrah
Could it be? Samantha Kingston? Home? On a Friday?” I roll my eyes. “I don’t know. Did you do a lot of acid in the sixties? Could be a flashback.” “I was two years old in 1960. I came too late for the party.” He leans down and pecks me on the head. I pull away out of habit. “And I’m not even going to ask how you know about acid flashbacks.” “What’s an acid flashback?” Izzy crows. “Nothing,” my dad and I say at the same time, and he smiles at me.
In certain areas of my life, I actively seek out solitude. Especially for someone in my line of work, solitude is, more or less, an inevitable circumstance. Sometimes, however, this sense of isolation, like acid spilling out of a bottle, can unconsciously eat away at a person's heart and dissolve it. You could see it, too, as a kind of double-edged sword. It protects me, but at the same time steadily cuts away at me from the inside.
Get off your ass and do something. All you need is the right inspiration. Anger has fueled me my entire life. It makes me feel good and... I'm okay with that. My fear is that my anger will one day make me so damned successful that I'll actually be happy. And then I'll just stop.
I could sell used battery acid and make it fly.
Transcendental Meditation, for me, has been a way of turning down the outside racket and turning up the bandwidth of instinct, intuition, concentration, attention. On the light ends, it's a power nap. On the strong ends, it's a giant battery, and that battery doesn't run out.
I've learned that I must find positive outlets for anger or it will destroy me. There is a certain anger: it reaches such intensity that to express it fully would require homicidal rage--self destructive, destroy the world rage--and its flame burns because the world is so unjust. I have to try to find a way to channel that anger to the positive, and the highest positive is forgiveness.
Maharajji told me, 'Give up anger and I'll help you.' I found
that love freed me back into the ocean of love and my righteous anger didn't do that. And I would rather be free than right.
I create the concept, which for me is about deciding upon the right girl and the right 'spirit', and thinking of all the things that visually describe her. It's just like putting together a fashion show; for me, that starts with the spirit and the girls as well.
I want to reach out and grab his hand and hold it to me, right over my heart, right where it aches the most. I don't know if doing that would heal me or make my heart break entirely, but either way this constant hungry waiting would be over.
There's no point in comforting words, in telling her she'll be all right. She's no fool. Her hand reaches out and I clutch it like a lifeline. As if it's me who's dying instead of Rue.
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