Dale Lans Ars Collectiva: Everglades at Starshine (Impression)

These are some of my talented poet friends from my hometown. If you’re ever wanting a dose of inspiration and feeling, spend some time on their tumblr. They’re publishing their first collection this summer, and I’m thrilled.

But seriously the last four lines of this poem.

dalelans:

An impression is a collective poetic form invented by Eugene and Matt. The impressor dictates (improvises) a poem, line by line. The receiver writes the line impressed upon her. The poem is thus translated from from one poet to another.

Earth circled them,
purple space, too.

Manifolds of…

Notes from a Performance of Mahler’s Symphony No. 6

The moment between
movements is when
everyone respectfully
fidgets.

I am now convinced
more than ever—
music is narrative.

I am in such a
beautiful place—
a grand chandelier
hangs from the ceiling
like a large crown.

Hearing a skilled
orchestra play is
like
eating at a five-star
restaurant,
the flavors deep,
resonating.

“Music does not
have to be
beautiful to be
great.”

The fate motive—
from triumph to
despair—A maj to
A min.

“This is not music
for entertaining
but for experiencing
the totality of one’s
being. Music is
the deepest language
of the soul.”

It is
euphoric, captivation.

The sounds burst 
forth in brilliant
rays of light.

And somehow
15 minutes have
passed in what
seems an instant.

My heart swells—
I could weep for
the delicate
beauty, so fragile
and perfect—
like laying undressed
with someone—
the light smoothness
of their skin against
yours. The meeting
of lips, a soft kiss.
Surrender

This makes me 
see the beauty
of life. No longer
alone in a crowded
room—but the
room itself.

I am in pieces.

And as the theater
empties it transforms
again—chatter
echoes, the packing
up, the shuffling
out, the draft of
cold air—
reawakening—a world
is built and destroyed—

in 86 minutes.

“

One task of literature is to formulate questions and construct counter-statements to the reigning pieties. And even when art is not oppositional, the arts gravitate toward contrariness. Literature is dialogue; responsiveness. Literature might be described as the history of human responsiveness to what is alive and what is moribund as cultures evolve and interact with one another.

Writers can do something to combat these clichés of our separateness, our difference—for writers are makers, not just transmitters, of myths. Literature offers not only myths but counter-myths, just as life offers counter-experiences—experiences that confound what you thought you thought, or felt, or believed.

A writer, I think, is someone who pays attention to the world. That means trying to understand, take in, connect with, what wickedness human beings are capable of; and not be corrupted—made cynical, superficial—by this understanding.

Literature can tell us what the world is like.

Literature can give standards and pass on deep knowledge, incarnated in language, in narrative.

Literature can train, and exercise, our ability to weep for those who are not us or ours.

Who would we be if we could not sympathize with those who are not us or ours? Who would we be if we could not forget ourselves, at least some of the time? Who would we be if we could not learn? Forgive? Become something other than we are?

”

Festival Nrmal Extras No. 1

“Mexico City is a lot. It’s chaos. It’s basically what you make of it. It’s like plastic. You can get lost. We can play and nobody will know about it. We don’t really care about people coming. We make the music, and if they come, that’s cool. I work at a bar. Diego works in real estate. We do whatever we have to do to get by. Music isn’t something you can do for money. Music is music, and if you try to do it for money, you have to compromise. You have to start doing it for somebody else. We just do it because we’ve been doing it since we were young, independently. We just do it, like Nike.”—Drugs for Drunks

Reflections on Festival Nrmal

Two weeks ago, I went to Festival Nrmal in Monterrey, Mexico and experienced something truly unique. I met tons of amazing people, saw incredibly inspiring bands perform and discovered a beautiful country, all while travelling with two of my closest friends and most-admired writers, Liz and Jenn Pelly. This is the first of a series I wrote called ‘Voices from the Mexican Underground: Festival Nrmal’. I hope you enjoy this glimpse of my experience are inspired to check out this festival for yourself next year.

http://noisey.vice.com/blog/voices-from-the-mexican-underground-festival-nrml-part-one

I’m still not over it. I finally removed my Nrmal wristband yesterday. That week touched something deep inside of me. It was a real opening up. By experiencing the beauty of life through the loving, creative energy of others, I could see my own beauty, my own possibility. I felt engaged, connected, a part of something really meaningful.

My being thawed; all that remained was a pool of water at my feet.

I looked up and I only saw the sun.

always paying for something

This afternoon I took a taxi to my apartment.

It was sleeting outside

and I was carrying a suitcase and a backpack

which contained quite a few things

I didn’t want to get wet.

I asked the Taxi Man what we did to deserve this

and he told me that

We’re Always Paying For Something.

We have to be careful on happy days, he said.

I entered my apartment for the first time in two weeks.

I set down my suitcase near my bedroom

and walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water.

It felt nice to be in a space that was my own,

where I didn’t have to consult anyone about

where the glasses were or

what I could eat or drink.

But then, I thought, sometimes

it’s nice to be able to ask for things from others, too.

By Ali Carter

“Anyone who has looked Hope in the face will never forget it. He will search for it everywhere he goes, among all kinds of men. And he will dream of finding it again someday, somewhere, perhaps among those closest to him. In every man there is the possibility of his being—or, to be more exact, of his becoming once again—another man.”