Listen to the new album from Baths, Obsidian, via Pitchfork Advance.
YESYESYESYESYESY who wants to see him in DC?!
2 days ago · 182 notes · © pitchfork
“
That’s the nature of any creative activity — you’re mostly going to be rejected."
— The New Yorker’s Bob Mankoff at a recent TED salon. When Mankoff quit psychology school in 1997 to become a cartoonist, he submitted 2,000 cartoons to the New Yorker that year. Of them, 2,000 were rejected. Today, he is the magazine’s cartoon editor.
Pair with the fantastic Fail Safe and Ray Bradbury’s advice on perseverance in the face of rejection.
(via explore-blog)
2 days ago · 358 notes · © explore-blog
“Ideally you are a cultural touchstone who would like to see your career reincarnated through a willing and qualified vessel, a literary lion(ess) seeking to direct and amplify the ripples of your influence, a charming gadabout with a tennis court and celebrity godchildren.”
3 days ago · 54 notes · © theparisreview
David Foster Wallace was like, Art must be sincere! We must use every tool in the linguistic toolbox to cut through sentiment and dishonest cliche and build fresh ways to reveal the power and reality of unironized emotion.
And Mister Rogers was like, Basically the same thing, but without any shame or pretense or fear of sincerity.
(Source: marketwarriors)
Susan Howe : from The Western Borders printed by Tuumba Press hosted @ECLIPSE
4 days ago · 252 notes · © poetsorg
“
It is the failure of our species to ‘listen deeply’ to our environment in our interaction with it that has brought us to the current point of crisis in this relationship. In the growing awareness of this crisis ‘ecopoetry’ has come to displace ‘nature poetry’, the latter being thought of as complacent, escapist, sentimental and anthropocentric."
— Terry Gifford in “Ted Hughes, Translation and Ecopoetics”
“
— Wallace Stevens from “The Motive for Metaphor” (via thesatyrincyprus)
You like it under the trees in autumn,
Because everything is half dead.
The wind moves like a cripple among the leaves
And repeats words without meaning.
In the same way, you were happy in spring,
With the half colors of quarter-things,
The slightly brighter sky, the melting clouds,
The single bird, the obscure moon—
The obscure moon lighting an obscure world
Of things that would never be quite expressed,
Where you yourself were not quite yourself
And did not want nor have to be,
Desiring the exhilarations of changes:
The motive for metaphor, shrinking from
The weight of primary noon,
The A B C of being,
The ruddy temper, the hammer
Of red and blue, the hard sound—
Steel against intimation—the sharp flash,
The vital, arrogant, fatal, dominant X.
