Taz Quotes

Provided we can escape from the museums we carry around inside us, provided we can stop selling ourselves tickets to the galleries in our own skulls, we can begin to contemplate an art which re-creates the goal of the sorcerer: changing the structure of reality by the manipulation of living symbols ... Art tells gorgeous lies that come true.

I’m not looking to get hurt, Taz. I’m just looking to get thoroughly fucked.

Don't just survive while waiting for someone's revolution to clear your head.

Words belong to those who use them only till someone else steals them back.

Our capacity for love increases with each person we cross paths with throughout our lives, and with each moment we spend with those people. But, too often we neglect that part of ourselves in favor of others. And by the time we realize just how important it is, we find ourselves with fewer folks around to practice with.

…Taz. I’m cuddly not clingy, in case you haven’t noticed.

It was new territory for me sexually, and for Taz, it was undeniably new territory for him emotionally.

The principle of laughter and the carnival spirit on which the grotesque is based destroys this limited seriousness and all pretense of an extratemporal meaning and unconditional value of necessity. It frees human consciousness, thought, and imagination for new potentialities. For this reason, great changes, even in the field of science, are always preceded by a certain carnival consciousness that prepares the way.

If rulers refuse to consider poems as crimes, then someone must commit crimes that serve the function of poetry, or texts that possess the resonance of terrorism.

Chaos comes before all principles of order & entropy, it's neither a god nor a maggot, its idiotic desires encompass & define every possible choreography, all meaningless aethers & phlogistons: its masks are crystallizations of its own facelessness, like clouds.

But the seven of you have something that nobody else ever had; time. All the time in the world. Time enough to grow indescribably close. Time enough to learn how to care for each other, to allow yourselves to be cared for. And, in the case of Barry and Lup, time enough to fall, deeply, and truly, in love.

Where our knowledge of beauty harmonizes with the ludus naturae, sorcery begins. No, not spoon-bending or horoscopy, not the Golden Dawn or make-believe shamanism, astral projection or the Satanic Mass--if it's mumbo jumbo you want go for the real stuff, banking, politics, social science--not that weak blavatskian crap.

The Law waits for you to stumble on a mode of being, a soul different from the FDA-approved purple-stamped standard dead meat — & as soon as you begin to act in harmony with nature the Law garottes & strangles you — so don’t play the blessed liberal middleclass martyr — accept the fact that you’re a criminal & be prepared to act like one.

The sorcerer is a Simple Realist: the world is real--but then so must consciousness be real since its effects are so tangible.

By the time we reached town, I was still utterly resolved to keep my hands off her…but Taz was at her place, and I didn’t trust that asshole for shit. That’s why I took her back to my apartment instead…and you can shut right the fuck up about that. I already know I’m a douche.

And after the performance, [Barry and Lup] take each other's hands high in the air. And they swoop down in this over-the-top bow, just...laughing, at the drama of it all. And the audience cheers, and Barry and Lup laugh, and they don't let each other's hands go. And then they stop laughing. And they don't let each other's hands go. And they keep not letting go.

I never thought that the word RAPE will appear in my life because a woman I deeply care about is raped. ~ Taz

I was wrong." Taz whispered against her soft skin as he tried to process what in the hell was going on with him. "It's not me that's dangerous, it's you.

certain?” Stellard asked, eyeing Taz, whom he’d personally selected nearly seven years

Poetic Terrorism WEIRD DANCING IN ALL-NIGHT computer-banking lobbies. Unauthorized pyrotechnic displays. Land-art, earth-works as bizarre alien artifacts strewn in State Parks. Burglarize houses but instead of stealing, leave Poetic-Terrorist objects. Kidnap someone & make them happy. Pick someone at random & convince them they're the heir to an enormous, useless & amazing fortune--say 5000 square miles of Antarctica, or an aging circus elephant, or an orphanage in Bombay, or a collection of alchemical mss. ... Bolt up brass commemorative plaques in places (public or private) where you have experienced a revelation or had a particularly fulfilling sexual experience, etc. Go naked for a sign. Organize a strike in your school or workplace on the grounds that it does not satisfy your need for indolence & spiritual beauty. Graffiti-art loaned some grace to ugly subways & rigid public monuments--PT-art can also be created for public places: poems scrawled in courthouse lavatories, small fetishes abandoned in parks & restaurants, Xerox-art under windshield-wipers of parked cars, Big Character Slogans pasted on playground walls, anonymous letters mailed to random or chosen recipients (mail fraud), pirate radio transmissions, wet cement... The audience reaction or aesthetic-shock produced by PT ought to be at least as strong as the emotion of terror-- powerful disgust, sexual arousal, superstitious awe, sudden intuitive breakthrough, dada-esque angst--no matter whether the PT is aimed at one person or many, no matter whether it is "signed" or anonymous, if it does not change someone's life (aside from the artist) it fails. PT is an act in a Theater of Cruelty which has no stage, no rows of seats, no tickets & no walls. In order to work at all, PT must categorically be divorced from all conventional structures for art consumption (galleries, publications, media). Even the guerilla Situationist tactics of street theater are perhaps too well known & expected now. An exquisite seduction carried out not only in the cause of mutual satisfaction but also as a conscious act in a deliberately beautiful life--may be the ultimate PT. The PTerrorist behaves like a confidence-trickster whose aim is not money but CHANGE. Don't do PT for other artists, do it for people who will not realize (at least for a few moments) that what you have done is art. Avoid recognizable art-categories, avoid politics, don't stick around to argue, don't be sentimental; be ruthless, take risks, vandalize only what must be defaced, do something children will remember all their lives--but don't be spontaneous unless the PT Muse has possessed you. Dress up. Leave a false name. Be legendary. The best PT is against the law, but don't get caught. Art as crime; crime as art.

Devils can be quite comical little animals, intense and wild. The Looney Tunes cartoon character “Taz” is an exaggeration, of course, because devils only spin like Taz if they’re kept too confined.

Fight for your life, it's the only one you've go

fight for your life, it's the only one you've got

life is like drawing a picture with a permanent marker, you screw up and it messes up the whole thing

And, Barry and Lup's professor is searching for them in the crowd, just, hoping to congratulate them. But, they're already gone. Running back up the valley to the conservatory, hand in hand.

IN PERSIA I SAW that poetry is meant to be set to music & chanted or sung--for one reason alone--because it works. A right combination of image & tune plunges the audience into a hal (something between emotional/aesthetic mood & trance of hyperawareness), outbursts of weeping, fits of dancing--measurable physical response to art. For us the link between poetry & body died with the bardic era--we read under the influence of a cartesian anaesthetic gas.

Don't just survive while waiting for someone's revolution to clear your head, don't sign up for the armies of anorexia or bulimia - act as if you were already free, calculate the odds, step out, remember the Code Duello - Smoke Pot /Eat Chicken/ Drink Tea.

History, materialism, monism, positivism, and all the "isms" of this world are old and rusty tools which I don't need or mind anymore. My principle is life, my end is death. I wish to live my life intensely for to embrace my life tragically. You are waiting for the revolution? My own began a long time ago! When you will be ready (God, what an endless wait!) I won't mind going along with you for awhile. But when you stop, I shall continue on my insane and triumphal way toward the great and sublime conquest of the nothing! Any society that you build will have its limits. And outside the limits of any society the unruly and heroic tramps will wander, with their wild & virgin thoughts - they who cannot live without planning ever new and dreadful outbursts of rebellion! I shall be among them! And after me, as before me, there will be those saying to their fellows: "So turn to yourselves rather than to your Gods or to your idols. Find what hides in yourselves; bring it to light; show yourselves!

Natives” of course are always immoral, but racial renegades and drop-outs must be downright polymorphous-perverse. The Buccaneers were buggers, the Maroons and Mountain Men were miscegenists, the “Jukes and Kallikaks” indulged in fornication and incest (leading to mutations such as polydactyly), the children ran around naked and masturbated openly, etc., etc. Reverting to a “state of Nature” paradoxically seems to allow for the practice of every “unnatural” act; or so it would appear if we believe the Puritans and Eugenicists. And since many people in repressed moralistic racist societies secretly desire exactly these licentious acts, they project them outwards onto the marginalized, and thereby convince themselves that they themselves remain civilized and pure. And in fact some marginalized communities do really reject consensus morality — the pirates certainly did! — and no doubt actually act out some of civilization’s repressed desires. (Wouldn’t you?) Becoming “wild” is always an erotic act, an act of nakedness.

It’s going to get dark,” she said. “We better go back.” She shifted and then knelt beside her dead pet, leaning down until her lips touched their ear. “Goodbye, my dear darling TAZ,” she whispered. “I love you. You’ll be with me forever.” Benny watched, wishing once again that he were the dead ferret.

Moving forward was scary. Sometimes you made mistakes. Sometimes you took the wrong path. And sometimes, even when you took the right path, things could go wrong. But Reshmina realized that she wanted—needed—to keep moving forward, no matter what. It was her fault that her family was in danger. It was her fault that Pasoon had chosen today to leave and join the Taliban. If she had chosen revenge over refuge with Taz, she and Pasoon would still be home right now, living their normal lives. But sometimes what was right and what was easy were two different things.

Oh, I guess I didn’t mention it before, but yes, I’m in the BAU of the FBI, and no—I do not know Dr. Spencer Reid or the other dude that Shemar Moore plays on the show. Do you realize how often I get asked that question?

Yes, because it’s not a party until you add vengeful psycho to the mix,” Taz snarks. 

El TAZ coincide con los hackers porque puede advenir precisamente, en parte, a través de la red, incluso a través de la mediación de la red. Pero también coincide con los verdes porque defiende una intensa autoconsciencia de uno mismo como cuerpo y siente repulsión sólo por la cybergnosis en cuanto intento de trascender el cuerpo mediante la simulación. El TAZ tiende a contemplar la dicotomía técnica/antitécnica como una dicotomía falaz, como la mayoría de las dicotomías, en la que opuestos aparentes son en realidad falsificaciones o incluso alucinaciones provocadas por la semántica. Dicho de otra forma: el TAZ quiere existir en este mundo, no en la idea de otro mundo, algún mundo visionario nacido de alguna falsa totalización -todo verde o todo metálico- que no puede ser sino pura fantasía vacía -o como diría Alicia, mermelada ayer o mermelada

I'm begging you, Taz, don't die a hero with no cause.

Many in the proudly working-class city of Liverpool were pleased to find that the Swabian’s convictions echoed their own. ‘I wouldn’t call myself very political but I’m on the left, of course. More left than the middle,’ Klopp told taz in 2009. ‘I believe in the welfare state, I don’t mind paying for health insurance. I’m not privately insured, I would never vote for a party because they promised to lower the top tax rate. My political understanding is this: if I’m doing well, I want others to do well, too. If there’s something I’ll never do in my life it’s voting for the right.

on the contrary of the other people around me I felt so scared when I saw this a new world and I remembered that the wonderful things always deceitful, I felt this world was so progressive and predator in its nature

you are a young boy, so naïve like a sheep, you don’t know many things about the real life or how to manage the countries and peoples, hey smart boy the history is written by winners, and the winner could kill millions and at the end they will called him names like the savior of humanity and the last knight of mercy, but the defeated could kill hundreds but they will damned him and called him the greatest butcher and the most dangerous criminal all over the time

me and the raft that I was on it, became like a matches box floating in this endless ocean, I don’t know how long I stayed in this case, day, two days, I guess my body condition wasn’t able to handle more than this period, but as I told you there was an invisible power take care of me where the waves by the time pushed me and my raft to that faraway beach, this beach that I called it later, the beach of knowledge and surviving

Elia said " are you still thinking that's there is something happened on this earth in the past?", Anas answered quickly with shining in his eyes" I'm completely sure there was something happened in the past, something terrible and scary

I want him, Taz. He escaped from me, because I wasn’t prepared for what happened at Little Moor. Now, I know what I’m dealing with, and I can handle it. This isn’t over until I deliver Shemyaza, alive or dead, to High Crag.

ليكن لك طابعك الخاص، ولا تكرر تجارب السابقين، أتعرف أن هذه هي مأساتنا؟ التكرار بدون أسباب، بدون وعي، بدون فهم، إن الحياة أمر عظيم، يستحق التأمل والتوقف عند لحظاته.

Like festivals, uprisings cannot happen every day- otherwise they would not be "nonordinary." But such moments of intensity give shape and meaning to the entirety of a life. The shaman returns you can't stay up on the roof forever - but things have changed, shifts and integrations have occurred -a difference is made.

Lay down a map of the land; over that, set a map of political change; over that, a map of the Net, especially the counter-Net with its emphasis on clandestine information-flow and logistics and finally, over all, the 1:1 map of the creative imagination, aesthetics, values. The resultant grid comes to life, animated by unexpected eddies and surges of energy, coagulations of light, secret tunnels, surprises.

To Aninka, he seemed all bones and ribs, his skin stretched tightly over his body. His slim naked feet looked fragile. Aninka swallowed, thought Shem’s boy. And understood immediately the root of Taz’s desire. Shemyaza had touched this creature; part of him lived in Daniel.

I heard you scream. Was it pain or pleasure? Hard to tell with that creature, isn’t it?” Daniel sighed. He didn’t want to argue. “It’s a shame we have to part this way, Taz, but if that’s how you want it to be…” “You are full of him,” Taziel said. “I can see his glow on you.

Nope! Not now!” Taz agreed, letting them hurry him along.

Kidnap someone & make them happy.

The bottom line is this: Women have many more choices and options today, but we also have to meet multiple demands and handle more responsibilities. As amazing as our opportunities are, we often forget one very important variable—our health!

For the majority of super women I meet, a high-stress lifestyle results in yang excess (high stress hormones and too much masculine energy) and too little yin (low female hormones and too little female power), which can leave these women—and you—panicked, sleepless, and vulnerable to diseases.

Finding and sustaining that qi was paramount to preserving a woman’s fertility and to helping her transition between the stages of her life.

Now it is time to turn to the other challenge for Boss Ladies—shutting down the stress hormone cortisol. There is no Boss Lady, with her roster of responsibilities, who does not battle her internal stress response (I know—remember, I am part Boss Lady myself. I have felt it when I get overtaxed, from the racing heart to the troubled mind.) None of us are good leaders when we lead from that place.

Meditation actually gives you back time in your day. The downtime you give your brain by not thinking gives it time to recharge and replenish in a way no other activity can.

So you’re the sister,” Taz said, coming up to Zanari. She nodded, unsmiling. “Yep. I’m the sister.” She was getting so tired of that role. “Also known as the Incredibly Talented Seer?” Taz raised an eyebrow and when he did, his face lost some of its perfect beauty. It made her warm to him, just a little. A small smile sneaked onto Zanari’s face. “Now you’re just trying to get on my good side.” Taz nodded in mock solemnity. “You’re the one who’ll see the ghouls coming—I plan to stick quite close to you for the next . . . however long we’ll be roaming impenetrable darkness.” “I have a personal bubble,” she said. Nalia had taught her that human expression after one too many of Noqril’s advances. “I like bubbles.” Zanari rolled her eyes and he laughed. For a jinni who’d been imprisoned in a bottle for thousands of years, Taz was remarkably well adjusted.

Mum” for beautiful and “taz” for royal.

alive,” Taz, a young operative, said to his superior, a man known only as Stellard. As a cool

alive,” Taz, a young operative, said to his superior, a man known only as Stellard. As a cool mist rose off the distant Potomac River, the two men quietly considered the implications. “You’re certain?” Stellard asked, eyeing Taz, whom he’d personally selected nearly seven years earlier to lead the search. Seven long years of few leads, countless dead ends, and zero proof that the pair of fugitives they sought, who had officially

A distressed mother came crying before the Taz concerning her son who had fallen deathly ill. The Taz said to her: “This is what I shall do on behalf of your plight. The Torah states, ‘Through this (Torah) you shall merit length of days,’ (Devarim 32:47). I hereby grant as a gift to your son the Torah I am about to learn with my students. Perhaps, in its merit, he shall yet live.” Within moments, the fever broke, and the child recovered.51

The idea of a life-giving force emanating from the Torah is clearly illustrated in the following story concerning the Taz, as related by Rav Chaim Volozhiner himself:

Jackson, are you trying to challenge my authority as Alpha?" Taz growled out. Ha! Therein the bullsh*t begins.

was common knowledge among the club girls that Taz’s ‘lessons’ were highly sought after.