No matter how much you feed the wolf, he keeps looking at the forest.

The Claiming Moon

Love is the voice under all silences, the hope which has no opposite in fear; the strength so strong mere force is feebleness: the truth more first than sun, more last than star…

—  E.E. Cummings

Hailing from Washington, DC, musician Nick Hakim possesses a particular voice that straddles the line between satin and rasp, while writing unfor- gettably poignant lyrics. But beyond being simply a singer-songwriter, Nick embodies every part of the creative process, from multi-instrumentalism, to production, to singing.

Hakim was raised in a household overflowing with musical diversity ranging from soul, hip-hop, go-go, and even folk music from his parents’s ethnic backgrounds of Chile and Peru, and these influ- ences manifest in his music. Hakim holds a degree from the Berklee College of Music, and has served as a teaching artist in music courses at the Boys and Girls Club of Roxbury and the Casa Isla Detention Center in Quincy. He has performed at many venues, including Le Poisson Rouge and the Mercury Lounge, and has been profiled in The Fader and Okayplayer.

http://urbanoproject.org/portfolio/nick-hakim/

A half-finished book is, after all, a half finished love affair.

And all becomes clear. Wish I could make you see this brightness.
Don’t worry, all is well.
All is so perfectly, damnably well.
I understand now, that boundaries between noise and sound are conventions.
All boundaries are conventions, waiting to be transcended.
One may transcend any convention, if only one can first conceive of doing so.
Moments like this, I can feel your heart beating as clearly as I feel my own,
and I know that separation is an illusion.
My life extends far beyond the limitations of me.

Robert Frobisher

I will be more powerful than your boats and your swords and your blood lust. I will be inevitable.

Over me only the sky, and with me, your voice.

“I believe that we run the world by our secret thoughts feelings & spoken words & written words & images painted… like a sort of magnetic bunch of wheels going constantly around… it is a kind of machine you know… this fluid cosmic world… a perpetual machine…”
- Charles Bukowski, from a letter to Sheri Martinelli

Just in case you ever foolishly forget; I’m never not thinking of you.

Nisht geferlech

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