'We float in language like icebergs - four-fifths under the surface and only one-fifth of us projecting into the open air.'

- Aldous Huxley

In between each word my thoughts wait in the shadows. This is the mystery of literature. It is the marriage of thought and writing; and in writing thought is half lost, and in thinking writing is half lost. I would like to stand on my head and let the thoughts drip from my mind, leaving my darkest confessions in a wet mess on the page. I should learn to admire the paper in all its cosmic blankness. Instead, my hands shake until it is covered in ink and I have devoured all. And still I hunger.

'Imagine the clouds dripping, dig a hole in your garden to put them in.'

- Yoko Ono

Why do I write feverishly when I'm far from home? I have been reading too, with a mad urgency, until my eyes turn red and bleed out the superfluous knowledge and fictional worlds that I've seen. I have been led to new dark continents, across a sea of words in which I'd calmly drown. Show me an ocean in this real world in which I can drown! I am bored of just getting my feet wet.

- Journal entry, Ham Wrong Mountain Vietnam

'Absorb me if you can'

- Andre Breton

Untie the braids in your hair, now run your fingers through
This is not me speaking this is you
Hold one hand over your heart, now sleep
This is your overnight religion
Wake, but not outside of yourself
Leave one eye open and shut the other
Know the light by knowing also the dark
Do not stand in your shadow and wonder why it's night
The moon will rise in the east and set in the west
When it is full you will hunger, let it feed on you this time
Learn to give yourself

'Beyond this world of wrong-doings and right-doings there is a field, and I will meet you there'

- Rumi

One day, communication will transcend language and instead of cheap talk the vines of the soul will be connected. It will look like tangled electricity and it will feel like making love. The universe will fall away and only invisible things will survive, like spirits and sound waves. Our new dimension will have no walls and we will vibrate on a higher frequency that is beyond good and evil. Amen

'Do not fear mystery'

- Jack Kerouac

The street singer writes his letters to a crowd defened by the machinery of night. Those who pass want to stop and sway but lack the courage to abandon their substance for the shadow. So they walk on, leaving washed up footprints on the sidewalk like waves trying to escape the sea. Does the city sing? and when they hear the music does it make the lines in their body curve. Yes? no. Have they mistaken the burning tip of my cigarette for the stars. How long has it been since they ran their fingers over wet paint, instead of watching it dry.