The Hammock Papers: Wilson

Showing posts with label Wilson. Show all posts

19 June 2026

Happy Birthday, Ann Wilson

Ann Wilson was born on this day in 1950.

"Kick It Out"...

08 December 2024

Stephen Wilson, Jr., "I Am a Song”

Thanks, Kev.

04 June 2024

This is the Outsider's extremity. He does not prefer not to believe; he doesn't like feeling that futility gets the last word in the universe; his human nature would like to find something it can answer to with complete assent, but honesty prevents his accepting a solution that he cannot reason about.

Colin Wilson, from The Outsider

21 May 2023

Cindy Wilson, "Twice Shy"

30 April 2023

Cindy Wilson, "Ballistic"

19 July 2022

Bottomless.

Keep off the path

Beware of the gate

Watch out for signs that say hidden driveways

Don't let the chlorine in your eyes

Blind you to the awful surprise

That's waitin' for you at

The bottom of the bottomless

Blue, blue, blue pool

Excellent.

Excellent albums ...

28 February 2022

Happy Birthday, Wilson

Speaking of music and dancing, Cindy Wilson was born on this day in 1957.

The B-52s, "Legal Tender" ...

08 February 2020

Excellent.

An excellent album ...

25 November 2017

Cassandra Wilson, "You Go To My Head"

21 November 2017

Cassandra Wilson, "Don't Explain"

31 May 2017

Blessed.

The SWIRLS

The swirls of my dreamlife

destabilize the politics of the schoolyard,

the power of the gang.

They interrupt the endless

boredom of my compulsory

education.

They ease

the pain

of the split tongues,

iced shoulders,

the pinches from disdaining eyes.

In those dreamscapes

the bullies were never born,

nor are they borne.

The swirls provide

a viewing tube,

a one way mirror of safety

an electrical shock

helping to carry the weight of my reality.

The swirls of my dreamlife

are portals to pleasures

conduits of knowing

escapes from pained puzzling

into

fluid awareness,

flowing continuums,

whole pictures

and beyond.

They keep trying

to pull me back

into the screaming glare

of their mindless banter.

God but they’re loud!

Blah, ba blah, blah they say.

Just vacant noise

filling the warm silences

and corners of my mind

with their feral screeching,

and meaningless words.

“Daydreaming again are we?

Pay attention.

I am talking to you!”

They don’t seem to realize

the swirls of my dreamlife

help me answer questions,

offer visions

show me the way

to fantastic worlds of wonder

and

into possibilities, probabilities, preferabilities.

For daydreams are portals

to my self-worth.

music to my eyes.

The swirls are threaded directly

into my soul

with sacred beauty

and promises of good things to come.

Blessed be the swirls …

Leslie Owen Wilson

10 May 2016

Dare.

THE NEW MEXICAN

From one of the draws, out of a mountain
across plains heavy with grass or dry
bleached and cracked by sun

He came
rifle easy in his hand, a hunting dogtrot
in his heart, brain singing with the hunt
the need for a kill

Old mountain men, born
and raised for the power of their backs and arms
valuing themselves little past those physical
strengths, and what survival finally cost them
when the necessities, time disappeared
with the game

Old men sitting on porches or scratching out
gardens, their blue black brown green eyes
cutting out a trail that now only hawks
dare follow

Out of the North come the snows
falling on storebought windows. Old men get
laid into frozen earth, their big hands
holding scars like lilies the coming Springs
may never bear again . . . . . . .

Keith Wilson

09 April 2015

Dooley Wilson, "Knock on Wood"

Very lucky.

BARRY HINES

"That's why it makes me mad when I take her out and I'll hear somebody say, 'Look, there's Billy Casper there wi' his pet hawk. I could shout at 'em; it's not a pet, Sir, hawks are not pets. Or when folks stop me and say, 'Is it tame?' Is it heck tame, it's trained that's all. It's fierce, and it's wild, an' it's not bothered about anybody, not even about me, right. And that's why it's great.Look, there's Billy Casper there wi' his pet hawk.' I could shout at 'em. It's not a pet, Sir. Hawks are not pets. Or when folks stop me and say, 'Is it tame?' Is it heck tame, it's trained, that's all. It's fierce, and it's wild, an' it's not bothered about anybody, not even about me right. And that's why it's great." (A Kestrel for a Knave)

WOLFGANG AMADEUS MOZART

"When I am, as it were, completely myself, entirely alone and of good cheer – say travelling in a carriage or walking after a good meal, or during the night when I cannot sleep – it is on such occasions that my ideas flow best and most abundantly. Whence, and how, they come I know not ; nor can I force them. Those ideas that please me I retain in memory and am accustomed, as I have been told, to hum them to myself. If I continue in this way, it soon occurs to me how I may turn this dainty morsel to account, so as to make a good dish of it. That is to say, agreeable to the rules of counterpoint, to the peculiarities of various instruments etc. All this fires my soul, and, provided I am not disturbed, my subject enlarges itself, becomes methodised, and defined, and the whole, though it be long, stands almost complete and finished in my mind, so that I can survey it like a fine picture or a beautiful statue at a glance. Nor do I hear in my imagination the parts successively, but I hear them, as it were, all at once. What a delight this is, I cannot tell."

WALT WHITMAN

The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me, he complains of my gab and my loitering. I too am not a bit tamed, I too am untranslatable, I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. The last scud of day holds back for me, It flings my likeness after the rest and true as any on the shadow’d wilds, It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk. I depart as air, I shake my white locks at the runaway sun, I effuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacy jags. I bequeath myself to the dirt to grow from the grass I love, If you want me again look for me under your boot-soles. You will hardly know who I am or what I mean, But I shall be good health to you nevertheless, And filter and fibre your blood. Failing to fetch me at first keep encouraged, Missing me one place search another, I stop somewhere waiting for you.

MARCUS AURELIUS

"Is your cucumber bitter? Throw it away. Are there briars in your path? Turn aside. That is enough. Do not go on and say, 'Why were things of this sort ever brought into this world?' neither intolerable nor everlasting - if thou bearest in mind that it has its limits, and if thou addest nothing to it in imagination. Pain is either an evil to the body (then let the body say what it thinks of it!)-or to the soul. But it is in the power of the soul to maintain its own serenity and tranquility."

VINCENT van GOGH

"What am I in the eyes of most people? A nonentity or an oddity or a disagreeable person — someone who has and will have no position in society, in short a little lower than the lowest. Very well — assuming that everything is indeed like that, then through my work I’d like to show what there is in the heart of such an oddity, such a nobody. This is my ambition, which is based less on resentment than on love in spite of everything, based more on a feeling of serenity than on passion. Even though I’m often in a mess, inside me there’s still a calm, pure harmony and music. In the poorest little house, in the filthiest corner, I see paintings or drawings. And my mind turns in that direction as if with an irresistible urge. As time passes, other things are increasingly excluded, and the more they are the faster my eyes see the picturesque. Art demands persistent work, work in spite of everything, and unceasing observation."

DAN CAMPBELL