Chris Campanioni

I couldn__ decide whether it was better to be the art, or the artist.

Always being myself and my salve, which is life. I__ not lonely, if that__ what it seems like. Always writing things down.

It__ not enough to say it; you would need to take it out of your mouth, you would need to become it. You would need to become what you were born to be.

Literature sustains life because it captures death in its forward march. Clickety-clickety-clack, the wheels go round and round ...

It__ not enough to say it; you would need to take it out of your mouth, you would need to become it. You would need to become what you were born to be. In actuality, or in each reality, underneath it all__ mean, behind it__he answer lies in

It__ television, after all. No one is dead, even when they die.

The future is trash. Recycling it, re-arranging it. Making it beautiful again.

Nothing is more hip than a corpse. The style is timeless. Death is trending.

To be a writer and political is a dangerous thing. To be a writer and apolitical is even more dangerous. Art is right, left; in truth, it has only one direction and that is forward.

The mist after rain, uninterrupted rainfall on rooftops, pitter-patter intellect. The thoughts I leave behind like footsteps.

Live a life worth reading about. Then write it.

In the act of creation, as in all the arts, the soul should be felt in the face and the fingers and the tongue, even in the cavities.

Tangerine tango was still in. Cardigans without buttons were in. Bahia bands were in. Senhor do Bonfim. Make a wish? But hardly anyone considered the most radical move: be yourself. Beauty is always a revolutionary act.

The convenient function of every celebrated machine for living is to produce machines to live in them.

To own beauty is the first lie of it.