Everyone wants to be at the center of attention, but I always look towards the edge, the periphery. People are more real out there, without an audience to perform for.
That’s where the really fascinating stuff is taking place.
I want to stand as close to the edge as I can without going over. Out on the edge you see all the kinds of things you can’t see from the center.
. . . . . ~ Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.
The Edge… there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over.
. . . . . ~ Hunter S. Thompson
You Are Standing at the Edge of the Woods
You are standing at the edge of the woods
when something begins
to sing, like a waterfall
through the leaves. It is
And you are just
sinking down into your thoughts,
the sweetness of it—those chords,
those pursed twirls—when you hear
out of the same twilight
the wildest red outcry. It pitches itself
forward, it flails and scabs
all the surrounding space with such authority
you can’t tell
whether it is crying out on the
scarp of victory, with its hooked foot
dabbed into some creature that now
with snapped spine
lies on the earth—or whether
it is such a struck body itself, saying
is silent then, or perhaps
has flown away.
The dark grows darker.
in its shining white blouse,
And whatever that wild cry was
it will always remain a mystery
you have to go home now and live with,
sometimes with the ease of music, and sometimes in silence,
for the rest of your life.
. . . . .~ Mary Oliver