Live Deep

And suck out all the marrow of life

My 1/4 life crisis

You can still find some cheap land in America;

some little parcel to disappear on.

Five acres is more than enough.

You won’t have electricity, but there’s plenty of power

in living how you always wanted.

It might be barren now, but it will be strong and virile.

Because if anything can make a desert fertile,

it’s the fecundity of your love and it’s eternal nature.


do you ever sit there and wonder what life must be like for people without anxiety

like they just


without worrying about them first



(via gormanda)

Tumblr, you would never let me down. I just know it!

Fuck this shit

As a matter of fact, fuck everything. Fuck fuck fuck it all. Raze it to the motherfucking ground.

“Candy cabbie” Mansoor Khalid gives passengers as much candy as they want.

Now that’s one sweet ride.

Taxi driver Mansoor Khalid is on a one-man mission to cheer up New Yorkers with a daily dose of candy.

“The New York life is not the easy life,” Khalid, 36, told the Daily News. “People are depressed. I see a lot of people stressed sitting back there.”

Khalid is no stranger to stress. He dubbed his taxi the NYC Candy Cab after his 2-year-old son died in April from a long battle with heart disease.

“I learned a lot of things,” he said of the trauma of losing his child, who underwent two heart transplants and lost a kidney before he passed away. “Life is too short.”

Khalid, who moved to New York from Pakistan in 1993 and has been driving a cab since 1997, had already seen the impact of small acts of generosity. During the two years he spent in the hospital with his son, he routinely brought coffee and desserts to the doctors and nurses when he got off his shift at 1 a.m.

“They got so happy when in the middle of the night I gave every person coffee,” he said. “I was so nice to them and they were so nice to me.”

After his son died, Khalid decided to bring his routine to the people he interacted with every day in his cab.

Khalid said he was inspired to do something sweet after the death of his 2-year-old son.

“I was very depressed, losing my little boy,” he said. “Somehow, God gave me this idea. Now (I’m) chit-chatting and time is flying by!”

Though he doesn’t eat much candy himself — “Skittles, only” — Khalid offers a wide variety of sweets, and has started cataloguing his collection on Instagram. Fans can also follow him on Twitter (@CandyCabNYC), and he may even start a blog for his growing following.

One such fan was thrilled to discover the cab on a late night out last weekend, and quickly spread the word about him through social media.

“We all started freaking out,” said David Weiner, 27. “You don’t see piles of candy like that in adulthood. It’s just one of those things that reminds you you’re in New York and anything can happen.”

And Khalid’s unusual project has the full support of the city.

“We encourage drivers to go the extra mile in the name of customer service, and Mr. Khalid certainly does this,” said Taxi and Limousine Commission boss David Yassky. “We appreciate the loyalty he inspires in his passengers.”

Loyalty isn’t the goal, considering that Khalid responds to every hail, candy or no candy. His mission is to spread warmth.

“It’s a little thing,” he said, “but people get happy.”

(via terminalimpacts)

To eat raspberries (I just ate a cupful) is to live. To take sleeping pills (four a night every night as I do) is to die. I can do anything I want. Mostly I don’t want. That’s the trouble.

—Anne Sexton, from a letter to Anne Clarke dated 3 July 1964. (via mgls14)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via devouredwithoutguilt)

Stream of Consciousness #1

            How do I write about myself without seeming totally egregiously pathetic and without embellishing about every little detail and not boring everyone? My life is pretty unextraordinary, despite what I keep telling myself. I work a job in food service, I live in a strange town that I moved to on a whim, I pay rent, I live alone. My boyfriend situation is just blossoming, but will probably go nowhere, since all my relationships go nowhere; but no one wants to hear all that sad kind of shit. And now I’m just going to type and listen to my Paul Simon record and see what happens. Fucking stream of consciousness this bitch. Fuck yeah. I am so fucking tired of working in food service. Yeah, I’d like to start a non-profit for environmental education, but I can’t help but feel like I’m COMPLETELY ALONE. I feel like I could fucking jump off a building and no one would notice. And fuck I had that nightmare last night, only it wasn’t a nightmare… waking up was a nightmare. The dream worked out really well. Waking was disappointing. I was a camp or something. I was a child. I was with my family. They were there with tons of other families. Something shitty was happening with my family (ha, go figure). Kelly and her family were there and Kelly was the only person that was on my side… but it seems like I freaked the fuck out on her or something, and it was really bad. And then I was even more alone and felt like shit so I went to Kelly’s house. She embraced me with open arms. It’s not Kelly I want, it’s the unconditional love she represents. I want someone that will keep forcing their way through to me even if I tell them to go away. I want someone who’s willing to fight  for me for once. But it can’t be anyone. It has to be the right kind of person, like Dresden or something. No, it has to be me. I have never felt so isolated and alone in my life. I feel so fucking alone. I am so alone. Christalmighty I am so alone. I want to fucking get a house and have a life and have a dog and have a job I don’t hate that I actually care about and be strong, be so fucking strong and take care of people that aren’t strong just like I’m not strong now. I want to show kids how to plant seeds and grown plants. I want to go into the woods for weeks at a time with no obligation to the rest of the world. I want to be free from anxiety. I want to stop hating the world around me. I want it all delivered to me on a silver platter. I’m sick of the world trying to make me wait. I’m so fucking tired of waiting for things to fall into place. Isn’t that what I’ve been doing all along? I’m 23 and I know I’m not quite a spinster yet, but christalmighty, it’ll be here before I know it. Fuck fuck fuck. I’m glad I’ll see Nathan tomorrow. Probably. What’s going on there? I know he’s into me, but I can’t trust someone else more than I trust myself. My intuition about the situation is that it’s two people looking for someone else, someone to love and be loved by. That’s not really bad or a shame. I think our relationship could easily work and be happy that way. Nothing wrong with that. Sometimes I think about the community I left behind at the zen center and how nice it was to not have to talk to anyone about anything. I just assumed that love was going to happen. Wop wop. People are still fucking people and it doesn’t matter if they are making relationship while they’re cutting the potatoes because guess what? You don’t always cut potatoes and ain’t it that nature of human interaction that it’s bound to turn inward and some point? It’s supposed to do that, it has to do that, but it would be so nice if we lived in a world without egos, without drama. Do I really believe that?  I think love and anger and passion are all so important. Maybe I just want them tuned back a little bit. But it’s like Roshi said, “You can’t be complete and be alive. You will die when you’re complete, because you won’t need to eat or love or do anything. You will just observe. That is love.” (Paraphrasing) Jesus Christ I need to sit. Why they fuck haven’t I been sitting? I wanted Hosen to send me those books she said she would so bad. Why hasn’t she sent them? She’s forgotten like everyone else. I don’t mean a whole lot to the world. I’m trying to decide if that’s a one-sided thing. Do I care about the world or maybe I have just been telling myself I don’t care about the world because I want to keep myself safe from it. Fuck fuck fuck. I am so lost without zen. I am so lost without zen. I am lost without anyone else. Where’s my sangha? Yeah, I’m not talking about the yuppie tree huggers at the zen center here. I’m sorry, but I need a little reality mixed in with my good feelings. Not all this, “Sit however you feel comfortable, feel free to adjust.” You know how Hosen got to lead sits like that? She was a fucking nun and inji to Roshi for ~30 years. How does miss 30 something crazy with her marriage problems and vindictive attitude get to lead a sit? When did she earn that? I know it’s stupid, it’s not about achievement, but you have to know what you’re doing a little bit. I feel like it’s the blind leading the blind. But god, being a nun is a full time job. When do you get to relax? You probably lose so much ego it’s impossible for me to even fathom. Maybe I should go back there. Maybe I should go back there. YOU”RE TAKING THE EASY WAY OUT. You are a zen warrior. You need to ironically be at peace with these issues. You need to feel better. You need to sit. You need to sit. And, um, you need to fucking sit. Life tests us multiple times a day and here you’ve been letting it well up underneath you. You thought it would be so much different and here you are now, a nervous wreck because you haven’t sat in a month and you’ve totally dememorized the Kozen Daito and most of the heart sutra and you don’t feel like you can practice in your own house and you were looking at houses and you were not even thinking about having a meditation space and you aren’t even averse to calling it meditation anymore even though you don’t like calling it that. And I seem to be recalling a dream. Hosen was telling someone (not me) the zen center’s phone number. Maybe it’s time to get a phone and call the zen center. Call your teacher and friend. You don’t have to go back, but you need to set up a time to probably go back. Kevin didn’t respond to your email. I hope he’s still mad at you, you deserve it, you deserve it. Fucking everything just builds on me. WHAT’S THE POINT OF ANY OF THIS? I can’t see the point but I can’t seem to end it. The other day, the clear plexiglass covering the church schedule had, sharpied on it, “End me, please” scrawled in a gnarly script with a pentagram underneath. I felt bad for them. Man, I’m thinking back to that time on the porch with Seiun and Seisen talking talking always talking. Talking and getting fat. Talking and putting all those impurities in their bodies. And Hosen’s talking too. They all talk too much. Everyone talks too much. Everyone fakes too much. All these ordained people that are shallow as the ascequia in the drought. What, you think you can talk about zen, about enlightenment. Show me a person that thinks they’ve “got it” and I’ll show you a person that cannot understand the complete unfathomability and wordlessness of zen. Period. I had a dream once, that I was walking by one of the dorms at Bodhi and Roshi was there. We looked each other in the eyes and he told me in his mind and mine, “You’re a zen master now.” There were no words. I didn’t even put it in words. I just understood the transmission perfectly. I can’t try and put it into words again. I should go back to Jemez where I belong. I should go back to zen where I belong. But, you see, the thing about zen is that it’s everywhere. I need to be in a place where they don’t do so much talking. Maybe I could go to Baldy. Maybe I could have my whole self diminished. Christ I need a sesshin.