Pound Unplugged Quotes

When all else fails, try a different tool. When all else fails, try a different methodology. When all else fails, try a different objective. When all else falls, ask for help. When all else fails, find someone else to ask. When all else fails, get a third opinion. When all else fails, get another perspective. When all else fails, get a research librarian to guide you to other tools, methodologies, perspectives, philosophies, objectives. When all else fails, find a professional to do it. When all else fails, find a child to figure it out. When all else fails, weep, moan, and pound the walls. When all else fails, unplug and plug back in. When all else fails, shake up the system. When all else fails, shake up your system--stretch, run, go to the gym and punch a bag. When all else fails, laugh at the quandary. When all else fails, laugh at yourself. When all else fails, light a scented candle and watch the flame as you drink in the smell. When all else fails, drink water. When all else fails, immerse yourself in water--hot, cold, or hot then cold. When all else fails, sing an anthem to the trees, the ground, the distant view. When all else fails, dance a rhumba, dance a tango, dance a forest witchie ritual. When all else fails, take a nap. When all else fails, go away completely, however long feels necessary. When all else fails, try and figure out what's to be gained or learned if this was the way it absolutely needed to happen. When all else fails, accept that this is the way it is. When all else fails, love as is. When all else fails, walk away.

As soon as he left, Lex closed the curtain back up, flung herself at the bed, and shook Driggs. “Wake up!” she half yelled, half whispered. “Driggs!” His eyes fluttered. “Wha? Where are we?” “Hospital.” Lex started unplugging the tubes in his arm. “I summoned it into existence, or I opened up a wormhole, or maybe a giant goddamn eagle showed up to fly us here and save the day—I don’t know! But we have to leave. Now.” Driggs looked down at his chest. “I’ve got like fifty stitches here.” “Your courage in the face of adversity is an inspiration to us all.” She pulled at his shoulders. “Now GET UP.” The sound of hurried footsteps pounded through the smoke. Lex held her breath as the curtain swooshed open. “She’s right,” Uncle Mort said to Driggs. “We gotta go.” Driggs nearly fell out of the bed as Lex dropped him to go hug her uncle. “Where have you been?” she asked him. “Where have I been?” Uncle Mort looked incredulous. “You never cease to amaze, kiddo.” “Ow!” Driggs was doubled over. “Little help here?” Lex ran back to his side. “Sorry.” She grabbed his torn-up hoodie from the chair, put her shoulder under his arm, and looked at Uncle Mort. “Now what?” He nodded toward the exit. “We leave.

At Ann’s writing-table he paused to stare at the telephone again. Hers. Hers and Haydon’s. Hers and everybody’s. Trimline, he thought. Or was it Slimline? Five pounds extra to the Post Office for the questionable pleasure of its outmoded, futuristic lines. My tart’s phone, she used to call it. The little warble for my little loves, the loud woo-hoo for my big ones. He realised it was ringing. Had been ringing a long while, the little warble for the little loves. He put down his glass, still staring at the telephone while it trilled. She used to leave it on the floor among her records when she was playing music, he remembered. She used to lie with it—there, by the fire, over there—one haunch carelessly lifted in case it needed her. When she went to bed, she unplugged it and took it with her, to comfort her in the night. When they made love, he knew he was the surrogate for all the men who hadn’t rung. For the First Eleven. For Bill Haydon, even though he was dead.