The Hemophiliac's Motorcycle
We are all alone, born alone, die alone, and — in spite of True Romance magazines — we shall all someday look back on our lives and see that, in spite of our company, we were alone the whole way. I do not say lonely — at least, not all the time — but essentially, and finally, alone. This is what makes your self-respect so important, and I don’t see how you can respect yourself if you must look in the hearts and minds of others for your happiness.
Hunter S. Thompson, The Proud Highway: Saga of a Desperate Southern Gentleman, 1955-1967 (via ypsych)
(via bikesandbridgess)
The New Yorker: Poem to Daniel Pearl
Note: A couple of weeks ago, I spent some time in Los Angeles with the parents of Daniel Pearl, a brilliant and courageous reporter for the Wall Street Journal who, ten years ago this month, was kidnapped and slaughtered by terrorists in Pakistan. At the time of his death, Danny’s wife, Mariane,
was pregnant with their son. In the videotape that the terrorists forced Danny to make before they killed him, he spoke bravely and plainly of his identity, “My father is Jewish, my mother is Jewish, I am Jewish.”
Since that unspeakable day, the Pearl family members, each in their own way, have kept the memory of Danny alive in many ways—in books, lectures, scholarships, a foundation. The other day, Judea Pearl, Danny’s father, sent me a poem that he had written not long ago… —David Remnick
The Lions’ Den
To Daniel Pearl on the Anniversary of His Death
by Judea PearlCome walk the road to lions’ den
South of midnight, planet earth, Karachi, Pakistan.
Some called it “nursery,” some named it “shed,”
A “compound,” “shack,” the newspapers said.I found it in my father’s holy book,
“The lions’ den,” the caption read.Come touch the walls on which two eyes
with thousand dreams wrote songs
and fiercest battles, ancient wars,
for seven days, went on.Never in the field of human conflict
Has there been a clash so total
so intense in charge and aim
Between two cosmic forces
so compressed in spaceSo opposed in vision
so rooted in conviction
Across so close a distance
Before so many eyes.•
Never stood a son of Abel
so fiercely to the face of Cain
A giver—to the teeth of claim,
A curious—to the blinds of self.
A listener—to the deafening shrieks of zeal.Alone!
Never beamed a ray of light
so deeply to the core of darkness
Music, to estrangement,
Principles, to whims
Reason, to the impulse
Mankind, to Attila, the HunNever was this saga chanted
in so powerful a rhyme:
“My name is Daniel Pearl,”
Softly spoken from the den,
Softly, from Karachi, Pakistan•
And when Daniel was lifted from the den,
So the Bible tells us,
No wound was found on him,
Because he stood his ground
Because he stood our ground
So the Bible tells us.
(Daniel 6:28)(Source: newyorker.com)
(via npr)
(Source: braintapshuffle, via pai-a)
The most interesting man in the world, dead at 74
For all its bravura, Mr. Fairfax’s seafaring almost pales beside his earlier ventures. Footloose and handsome, he was a flesh-and-blood character out of Graham Greene, with more than a dash of Hemingway and Ian Fleming shaken in.
At 9, he settled a dispute with a pistol. At 13, he lit out for the Amazon jungle.
At 20, he attempted suicide-by-jaguar. Afterward he was apprenticed to a pirate. To please his mother, who did not take kindly to his being a pirate, he briefly managed a mink farm, one of the few truly dull entries on his otherwise crackling résumé, which lately included a career as a professional gambler.
(Source: soupsoup)
The opposite of an idealist is too often a man without love.
Camus, A Happy Death
The protagonist, Mersault, replies shortly thereafter, saying something to the effect of ‘don’t believe it’.
(via tiredshoes)
(Source: crumpledmap)
(via changeyourgame)
A dream room…but I know I’d never be able to keep it this clean.
(Source: changeyourgame, via inspiredbylit)
Chocolate by Rita Dove




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