Quotes by David B. Lentz

Maybe, life is a kind of waking dream.Maybe, its a double-dream with a false awakening.Maybe, the dream only becomes lucid and truly luminous given the fuller perspective of life after ones own wake.Maybe, the pictures never stop.Doesnt the existence of dreams and higher consciousness during the years of blackouts of a lifetime, whether longer or shorter, give us a valid premise to hope that another highly spiritual state may await our passing?

I became the fractured shell of a mustard seed to dwell for an eye-blink amid a starburst galaxy of broken dreams.

The ability to find pixilation amid the pixelation is at the essence of the gift of celestial Grace.

The relentless persistence of Light eventually exhausts darkness.

New York had pushed and bent and bullied, driving me underground to sort out the madness and sculpt my Being with my own hands in self-discovery on its cold pottery wheel and in the white heat of its kiln. The City enabled me to learn who I really was, as a pixelated man and member of Humanity.

Its intriguing to observe so many of the outrageous prophecies, made with such biting satire years ago in the first edition, come into being through the craft of so many self-entitled egomaniacs running a global corpornation for personal interest and professional profit. I had no idea then, as I now know, that I was writing with so much understatement. Honest outrage and political satire are two of the most important weapons that we have to protect infringement against our personal freedoms through oligarchy and to maintain any semblance of humanity in our democracy as our government aggressively privatizes and over-reaches at the expense of those millions whom it has sworn so dishonestly to serve and has utterly abandoned.

The poet is a Cyclops in the Kingdom of the Blind whose sole cure for the madness of his vision must be starvation.

My best advice is never to address any woman as Madam unless she holds a high position in government or you happen to find yourself in a brothel speaking to its owner.

A perfectly clear photograph is a distortion of reality.

New York City is where specks of dust aspire randomly with all their cunning to become grains of sand.