People know what they do; frequently they know why they do what they do; but what they don’t know is what what they do does.
The work of an intellectual is not to mould the political will of others; it is, through the analyses that he does in his own field, to re-examine evidence and assumptions, to shake up habitual ways of working and thinking, to dissipate conventional familiarities, to re-evaluate rules and institutions and to participate in the formation of a political will (where he has his role as citizen to play).
There is no power relation without the correlative constitution of a field of knowledge, nor any knowledge that does not presuppose and constitute at the same time power relations.
So funky I can’t help it, boy
Neck bones, candy yams, turnips
It’s for the snake
It’s for the snake
Listen to your words They’ll tell you what to do Listen over the rhythm that’s confusing you Listen to the reed in the saxophone Listen over the hum of the radio Listen over the sounds of blades in rotation Listen through the traffic and circulation Listen as hope and peace try to rhyme Listen over marching bands playing out their time Wake up Wake up dead man Wake up Wake up dead man Jesus Were you just around the corner? Did you think to try and warn her? Or are you working on something new? If there’s and order In all of this disorder Is it like a tape recorder? Can we rewind it just once more.
All the early Roman kings
In their sharkskin suits
Bow ties and buttons
High top boots
Drivin’ the spikes in
Blazin’ the rails
Nailed in their coffins
In top hats and tails
Now I’m holding a dub, sitting on swoll
27 years old, up for parole, stroll
I’m back up on my feet with my mind on the money
That I’ll make as soon as I touch the streets
Things done changed on this side
Remember they used to thump, but now they blast, right?
But it ain’t no thing to me
Cause now I’m what they call a loced-assed OG
The little homies from the hood with grip
Are the ones I get with cause I’m down to set trip
I’m bigger than you, so what you wanna do?
Didn’t know he had a .22
Straight sitting behind his back
I grabbed his pockets and then I heard six caps
I fell to the ground with blood on my hands
I didn’t understand
How a brother so young could bust a cap
I used to be the same way back
I guess that’s what I get (For what?)
For trying to jack them little homies for they grip.
I suppose that Old Man Trump knows just how much racial hate
He stirred up in that bloodpot of human hearts
When he drawed that color line
Here at his Beach Haven family project.
A way a lone a last a loved a long the riverrun, past Eve and Adam’s, from swerve of shore to bend of bay, brings us by a commodius vicus of recirculation back to Howth Castle and Environs.
In science and in medicine
I was a stranger, you took me in
There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.
Be always drunken. Nothing else matters: that is the only question. If you would not feel the horrible burden of Time weighing on your shoulders and crushing you to the earth, be drunken continually.Drunken with what? With wine, with poetry, or with virtue, as you will. But be drunken.
Freedom may never be conceived merely negatively, as the absence of compulsion. Freedom conceived intersubjectively distinguishes itself from the arbitrary freedom of the isolated individual. No one is free until we are all free. Only by externalization, by entering into social relationships, can we develop the interiority of our own person.
No, that is the great fallacy: the wisdom of old men. They do not grow wise. They grow careful.
You have touched my soul. Souls that have touched can no longer be single souls.
I’m at the sea, and I can hear the trains
Winds of change, so new
Blow right through me and blow back through you
And pull you into the light.
If the mitred bishops seen you that time, they’d be the like of the holy prophets, I’m thinking, do be straining the bars of Paradise to lay eyes on the Lady Helen of Troy, and she abroad, pacing back and forward, with a nosegay in her golden shawl. Drink a health to the wonders of the western world, the pirates, preachers, poteen-makers, with the jobbing jockies; parching peelers, and the juries fill their stomachs selling judgments of the English law. Lord, confound this surly sister, Blight her brow with blotch and blister, Cramp her larynx, lung, and liver, In her guts a galling give her.
Just across the river to the Southside
That’s a long way here
All the green and all the gold
If the door is open it isn’t theft
You can’t return to where you’ve never left
Blossoms falling from a tree
They cover you and cover me
Symbols clashing, bibles smashing
Paint the world you need to see
And sometimes fear is the only place
That we can call our home
Need a shot of salvation, baby, once in a while
Hear the whistle blowing, hear it for a thousand miles.
Each person possesses and inviolability founded on justice that even the welfare of society as a whole cannot override. The principles of justice are chosen behind a veil of ignorance.
The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.
The game is life and I play the game.
I’m aware of the time we lost
Like a demon in the doorway, waiting to be born
But I’m here all alone, just begging
Pull me close and let me hold you in
Give me the deeper understanding of who I am
I’m moving back again, I’m waiting.
Sometimes people hold a core belief that is very strong. When they are presented with evidence that works against that belief, the new evidence cannot be accepted. It would create a feeling that is extremely uncomfortable, called cognitive dissonance. And because it is so important to protect the core belief, they will rationalize, ignore and even deny anything that doesn’t fit in with the core belief. Zombies, believe me, are more terrifying than colonists.
Of all the forms of inequality, injustice in health care is the most shocking and inhumane.
I’ve never been certain whether the moral of the Icarus story should only be, as is generally accepted, ‘don’t try to fly too high,’ or whether it might also be thought of as ‘forget the wax and feathers, and do a better job on the wings.
Poetry is a sort of inspired mathematics, which gives us equations, not for abstract figures, triangles, squares, and the like, but for the human emotions. If one has a mind which inclines to magic rather than science, one will prefer to speak of these equations as spells or incantations; it sounds more arcane, mysterious, recondite.
Put me on a plate with petals and a fire
And send me out to sea
Turn my angry sword against my heart
And let me free
The dawn holds the heaviness of the night
I’ve heard the restless sighs and lovers lies
The brook, the beach and seen the devil’s eyes
So bring me home.
In any moment of decision, the best thing you can do is the right thing, the next best thing you can do is the wrong thing, and the worst thing you can do is nothing.
There is nothing more truly artistic than to love people.
The Hottest Places in Hell Are Reserved for Those Who in a Period of Moral Crisis Maintain Their Neutrality.
I have to make you conscious of the things you don’t see. I imagine one of the reasons people cling to their hates so stubbornly is because they sense, once hate is gone, they will be forced to deal with pain.
I’m going to tear my hair out just for you
If you don’t believe what I’m singing
At three o’clock in the morning, babe, while
I’m singing my song for you.
Light yourself on fire with passion and people will come from miles to watch you burn.
Scarecrow on a wooden cross blackbird in the barn Four hundred empty acres that used to be my farm I grew up like my daddy did my grandpa cleared this land When I was five I walked the fence while grandpa held my hand
Rain on the scarecrow blood on the plow This land fed a nation this land made me proud And son I’m just sorry theres no legacy for you now
The crops we grew last summer weren’t enough to pay the loans Couldn’t buy the seed to plant this spring and the farmers bank foreclosed Called my old friend schepman up to auction off the land He said john its just my job and I hope you understand Hey calling it your job ol hoss sure dont make it right But if you want me to Ill say a prayer for your soul tonight And grandmas on the front porch swing with a Bible in her hand Sometimes I hear her singing take me to the promised land When you take away a mans dignity he cant work his fields and cows.
Tristeza não tem fim
But now the damage’s done
And we’re back out on the run
Fun how ev’rything was roses
When we held on to the guns
Just because you’re winnin’
Don’t mean you’re the lucky ones
Radicals and racists
Don’t point your finger at me
I’m a small town white boy
Just tryin’ to make ends meet
Don’t need your religion Don’t watch that much TV
Just makin’ my livin’ baby Well that’s enough for me.
When one researches organized, structured and largely invisible violence, there are times one must ask if it is more important to strictly follow a professional code or to intervene.
We try never to forget that medicine is for the people. It is not for the profits. The profits follow, and if we have remembered that, they have never failed to appear. The better we have remembered it, the larger they have been.
Sun is down, freezin’ cold. That’s how we already know, winter’s here. My dawg would probably do it for a Louis belt. That’s just all he know, he don’t know nothin’ else I tried to show ’em, yeah. I tried to show ’em, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah. Gone on you with the pick and roll, Young La Flame, he in sicko mode.
A book must be the axe for the frozen sea within us.
At night, after the exhausting games of canasta, we would look out over the immense sea, full of white-flecked and green reflections, the two of us leaning side by side on the railing, each of us far away, flying in his own aircraft to the stratospheric regions of our own dreams. There we understood that our vocation, our true vocation, was to move for eternity along the roads and seas of the world. Always curious, looking into everything that came before our eyes, sniffing out each corner but only ever faintly – not setting down roots in any land or staying long enough to see the substratum of things; the outer limits would suffice.
Memories are killing. So you must not think of certain things, of those that are dear to you, or rather you must think of them, for if you don’t there is the danger of finding them, in your mind, little by little. Perhaps my best years are gone. When there was a chance of happiness. But I wouldn’t want them back. Not with the fire in me now. No, I wouldn’t want them back. All of old. Nothing else ever. Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better.
It’s the “Godfather Buried Alive”
Ayo Po it’s the Ill Na Na stuntin’ in 5.0
Went to Brooklyn with the Rugers out
In Flatbush and I keeps the Kiki poppin’ off when the goons is out.
I say no wealth is worth my life! Not all they claim
was stored in the depths of Troy, that city built on riches,
in the old days of peace before the sons of Achaea came-
not all the gold held fast in the Archer’s rocky vaults,
in Phoebus Apollo’s house on Pytho’s sheer cliffs!
Cattle and fat sheep can all be had for the raiding,
tripods all for the trading, and tawny-headed stallions.
But a man’s life breath cannot come back again-
no raiders in force, no trading brings it back,
once it slips through a man’s clenched teeth.
Mother tells me,
the immortal goddess Thetis with her glistening feet,
that two fates bear me on to the day of death.
If I hold out here and I lay siege to Troy,
my journey home is gone, but my glory never dies.
If I voyage back to the fatherland I love,
my pride, my glory dies…
true, but the life that’s left me will be long,
the stroke of death will not come on me quickly.
You never miss the water til the well runs dry.
I Feel like my soul has turned into steel
I’ve still got the scars that the sun didn’t heal.
Well, I dreamed I saw the knights in armor come
Sayin’ somethin’ about me
There were children singin’ and drummers drummin’
The archer split the tree
There was a fanfare blowin’ to the sun
That floated on the breeze
We got mother nature on the run, in the nineteen seventies.
Contemplation makes a rare turkey-cock of him. How he jets under his advanced plumes!
California is a place in which a boom mentality and a sense of Chekhovian loss meet in uneasy suspension; in which the mind is troubled by some buried but ineradicable suspicion that things better work here, because here, beneath the immense bleached sky,is where we run out of continent.
Men are so necessarily mad, that not to be mad would amount to another form of madness.
Our greatest strength comes not from what we possess, but from what we believe; not from what we have, but from who we are.