Quotes from Evan Dara

When the sun was rising I doubted its value, as it set I lamented its loss.

Buddhism needs its fucking Nietzsche --

Now my sole function in this world is to serve as receptacle for the proof that I am inconsequential; every experience I accrete is only another stroke of an eraser.

B]etter the beauty of struggle and futility than the illusion of accomplishment; for as we struggle, he would seem to say, so are we beautiful.

and I attempted, above all, to get at the truth, not the masquerade that declares itself as genuineness when, habitually, the truth is invoked, but a wholesale leveling of the artifices of personality, a selfless plunge into...into what I had thought must remain forever hidden, to the substance of what I had always kept in shadow ... to that point where self becomes sorrow ...

It's only gotten to the point where it's easier for us to imagine the destruction of the world than the changing of our economic system

So how about you?, I said: what do you do, if you don't mind my asking; -Not at all, he said: I'm into mitosis; -Aren't we all, I said;-

but what I am not interested in, Ms. Clipboard- or Mr. Canker or Mrs. Murmur or Call-me-Carol, all of you- is your questions; even your pointing and tipping Enoch pencils have six sides, my dear definers: pay heed whereon you pinch!; I am interested, almost exclusively, in being interested, and your reductivist probings are only intended to cordon off wings of my mansion;

L]et them be their own Rorschach tests[.]

and all I could see was a teary streaking of lights and little bubbles of color before I had to close up again, to shut myself in; so it couldn't be, it couldn't be the case, there's no way that all this was moving around me, Einstein was wrong-

The man holding me had a pistol in his other hand; I saw it in the comer of my eye just before I felt its cold hardness crunch into my temple; pressed against my face, the pistol was hard in a way that seemed absolute, bone-smashing, beyond argument, and cold in a way that seemed perfect and permanent;

and I was thinking of what it would be like to have such a wound, to lift up the bottom of my shirt at school and have bandages to show, white brushstrokes on belly, when a horrendous force Huhhh catapulted me forward and my neck whipped back and I crumbled down to the pavement and my entire face began to cry;

so I just finished stuffing my bike with invisible air and went home; and thus ended my career as a hostage- briefly, inconclusively, with consummate inconsequentiality: a nonevent realizing its full potential, brave new currents in con­temporary invisibility-

And the man then said Oh, please: Just let me know if you come upon bark textures that recall the erosion patterns of human hope...And then he disappeared behind a tree...and the forest fell into silence...

but what is vibrato if not a breaking down of the rigid divisions between pitches, a temporary ending of our sundered musical segmentation; we evoke the deepest and richest of our feelings by bending tones between the line spectrum of the Western scale, by ending its divisiveness; we locate what is most human in between, where we are no longer quantized, constrained...

it's true what they sang in that song, that video killed the radio star-how in the long war between the senses, the eye, in its unstoppable scorched-earth campaign, has mobilized a kind of technologi­cal Gresham's Law against radio, and has almost entirely sidelined it;

D}o not ask me to choose classical philology over industrial catering when they both seem such powerful fun; I want to be a forensic epidemiologist and a floorwalker in men's hosiery-look at how those size l0-to-13's drape over their tiny 2-shaped hangers...

because the guy was oblivious, anyway, he was so into what he was doing: rooting through the ranks of rubbish, sorting it out, putting some on the central worktable, then moving some of that selected shit around, stacking it, arraying it, then circulating around the table and sizing the shitpile up, from different angles, with incendiary eyes ... ; and then, the next evening, I saw there was more shit, the guy must have been bringing it in...

And guess what he finds. Nothing. And I mean that literally. Not a de Brogliesque absence of presence but a Tertullian presence of absence.

The e-mail lands like a mortar in the Hum suzerainty.

I've always liked hardware stores. All the glues and the garbage pails and the adzes and insect zappers. Makes you feel good. Some people think hardware stores are testaments to decay. Proofs that the creation exists to unmake itself, that everything's heading drainward. Negative. Just take a look, and all those stores are arguing precisely the opposite - that the world can be made better, significantly better, in, like, endless numbers of ways. They're seriously optimistic places—

meanwhile, throughout this orchestrated space, harmonious hundreds of people were milling, window shopping, pushing strollers, and holding soda cans in round keep-' em-cool sleeves, while their abundant children, in large sneakers, straggled along or spir­ited about -and a piped-in rendition of Let It Be, performed by a high-cholesterol string ensemble, made the whole thing look like affectless, Nijinskian choreography...

for I have read about oceanic feelings, but I know about dying of thirst in the middle of the ocean... and I have heard about the thousand points of light, but I have seen that they provide no warmth, no canopying glow ...

Thus, in short, in sum, in all, it was but a babystep for Chomsky, graced with this understanding of the ineffable richness of our bio-abilities, to become the universalist that he be, to extend his understanding to the political realm ...and to leap, by bio-necessity, into his political work-