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Karl Kristian Flores Quotes

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Famous Karl Kristian Flores Quotes

“When you said goodbye earlier, I wish there had been something more. It's too sharp of a turn. Endings are jarring. It doesn’t make any sense. 'Goodbyes' are the oldest thieves around. Because they steal all the credit of a moment. All the good out of a conversation. The lasting impression of goodbyes makes it seem as if no party ever cared to begin with. You know?”

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“Cashiers interact with hundreds of strangers per day, but seem to treat them all like one person. As a result, they seem to laugh at just about anything you say. “Hi, what can I get started for you?” “I’ll take a breakfast muffin.” “Haha, nice! Anything else?” “That’s everything.” “Haha, alright, there you go, sir. Your total is $3.24.” “Okay, here’s $5. Keep the change.” “Haha, no you’re good, haha.” If you want to feel like a stand-up comedian, buy something.”

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“Pretty faces have distracted incoming hands ready to stab. Sex has disguised arguments. Politeness has prevented confrontation. Laughing has slowed down revelation. Emotions have been misinterpreted as agreements. Judgment has hampered our listening. Perhaps, for now, we are more accurately defined by what we say or think and not how we seem or look.”

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“There’s so much ‘expression’ today you can’t hear the real problems. Maybe we switch tasks. To trust our current exhibitions can do their job. It is worth a try. A generation sacrificing their pride to save the future. Granted, our art is needed and could reveal our faults, but do evil men watch movies? Something soon must die. To trust the future will take care of itself is to deny an obvious and necessary revolution.”

ArtPhilosophySacrificeSocietyExpressionRevolutionHumanitarianPhilanthropyThe Goodbye Song
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“People used to shop in stores; swiping through hangers, trying on clothes, and being surprised by what looked good on them. Now, clothing is a 2x4 digital image that you scroll past, worn by someone who isn’t you, in a color that isn’t accurate, in a fashion that invites no spontaneity. Our infinity makes us so limited.”

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“We must do because we are here. The universe is a playspace for you to find out cool shit and discover cool people. It’s the purest notion in our hearts, but also the most fragile. Do not lose to cul-de-sacs. Or a small person who says no. Or a large society that points one way. Do not lose to humidity. Or mud. Or boring white walls that say you’re nothing. Don’t fall for the room. It’s not there. Our dreams will never be around us, which is why we have to do the awkward thing of chasing them. It’s bigger than a day job, or even a romance. To be caught up on planetary affairs is to let the wind blow away your existence. You must throw a fishing line at a cloud and climb up the cord. Stay above the soil stompers. They won’t value you, so look away. Planted in you is a self in which the world will fail to see, in which you must make your mission to protect.”

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“Productivity is now sold as a lifestyle. People hustle away and grind for the sake of grinding. New calendars. New dry erase markers. New journals. But when they write in advanced journals, they write of goals and next steps— never of thoughts and secrets. When they write of goals, their goals are to have more goals. So you abandon the empty castle that is productivity and enter the little cottage of your funny heart.”

DreamsAmbitionGoalsProductivityThe Goodbye SongThoughtfulnessDiaryHustlingJournallingSocial Problem
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“I love the church. I like the waxed candles that remind me people think of people. I love the bouquet of flowers on the altar that a group of grandmas grow in their gardens and pridefully donate every week. I admire the wooden statues of craftsmanship, of a mother staring at you with the kind of pure, loving look I forgot to ask from mine. I like the skinny man nailed to the cross reminding me that people are capable of sacrificial love. I like to stare at the art on the stained-glass windows, of angels, of lambs, and of fruit. I love running my hands over mosaics and tracing the lips of saints. I love the hymns and joy of the choir, who sing regardless if you’re too scared. I love watching the collective sway of bodies subconsciously comforted by their environment after finally saying “Peace be with you.” And most of all, I love being surrounded by people trying. They wear Christ around their neck and squeeze a rosary for dear life, admitting their weaknesses and sins. Tell me, where do you find that? There is an honesty in the church, spilling from kneeling persons, that gives me the hope humans can take care of each other and our planet can be a good one. Where else can I be exposed to the practice of morality on such an emotional level? I love everything about the church—the shiny pews, the smoky incense, the Bible and its purpose – because when all is considered, it makes sense. It is a template of discipline and thoughtfulness. Why call religious people idiots when they’re the few paying attention to their own lives? And there are other ways to be moral of course, but not many ways to practice. I’ve learned that to believe in God doesn’t subtract any life from you. It is additional. It is the world and God. If someone wears a jacket over their shirt, they aren’t naked. They’re double-layered.”

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“By acknowledging how ridiculous something is, people know what’s real again. We need those refreshers. It’s amazing how out of touch people can be when pretending there’s no elephant in the room. People must be elephant finders. But not of those big, monstrous, disgusting elephants, but the cute tiny ones in the room that we were each privately suspecting.”

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“Darling, don’t say it’s me that you love, But that you love how I make you feel on the weekends. Don’t say you have to go, admit there’s nothing more to let me know. Don’t say it was a good movie, tell me that it was a good break. Don’t say you like her hair, tell me that it’s just different. Don’t say your father’s evil, tell me that it’s ignorance. Don’t say you feel like dying, tell me life would be better without bills. Don’t say you hate crying, but that you hate when they see you ill. Don’t say you love the winter, tell me you like the gifts. Don’t say you want a vacation when you really want a kiss.”

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“I tried to go to group counseling, but the lady said they were full and so when I tried a 1-on-1 with a counselor, they didn’t respond to my calls. I tried so many times. It’s already so embarrassing asking for help. And you have to pick up my calls, too. Please, mom. When you don’t pick up the phone, my head goes all over the place and I think you’re dead.”

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“Claire continued. "There's a complexity of... looking forward to something. Being scared it doesn’t live up to your hope... like second dates... or returning to Cancun... or being in love with a stranger, hoping they never love you. It’s not that you prefer the concept or the excitement of the beginning. It’s the fear that a future with someone won’t be as nice as you hoped it would be. I would hate that, Brit. It'd crush me. It's like when you tell a person you like them—it always dips. It gets awkward. The expectation of it. I feel some things are best left at 'Hello.' Like, I write about living in a forest away from everyone, but I can’t tell if that’s the future I want or only enjoy writing about.”

Falling In LoveComplicatedVulnerabilityFear Of FailureGuardedThe Goodbye SongFear Of ChangeLies We Tell OurselvesFear Of Relationships
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“All I cared about was if the shot was pretty,' she said. 'You're a young filmmaker and you get a nice lens and the dailies can make it seem like you got a movie, but you don’t. You start editing it and realize you’re left with a bunch of beautiful images, but no story. Everyone on set is too easily impressed by a nice camera. And then there’s the writing. I guess it’s a pet peeve—when perfect people write in disease or abuse in order to make a story emotional. It hurts me. There doesn’t need to be cancer or death. I would cry at a simple line—like... a sad husband telling his wife that he’s concerned their dog is the only thing that keeps their marriage interesting.”

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“I kinda like being sick. A very strong fever. It’s the perfect condition. You get to have someone take care of you. You feel cold all day, so you snuggle up in a blanket and shiver and sweat. Warm music. The only thing you can think about is how weak your body is, so you get to forget about the rest of the world for a couple days. And my body can finally know how my brain feels like every day. Nothing matters, except how terrible your pain is. It’s like a meditation. An alignment. Then to top it all off, there’s the hope and assurance you’ll get better soon.”

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“If only I could know I’m dead... and think about my death... I’ll miss the thinking... my own opinions... consciousness... something to experience something...looking down and seeing my hands... Wow... hello mind... I know my fingers so well... I like them... okay...what’s going to happen now?... I feel it, I feel it, it’s coming, right here, right here, hurry... This was all so lucky.”

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“We’retryingtopushthroughthepausesandsithere.Andeach second that goes by proves how much we pathetically want the other person. But we aren’t saying that. It’s like, for example, a first date —both parties are already vulnerable because they showed up. But it’s never said. It's so funny. It’s like when people front so much that the room could literally be on fire and they’d be like “Are you hot?” “No, I’m fine, I’m actually kinda cold,” and then they burn to death, never admitting that their faces are literally melting.”

LyingVulnerabilityTelling The TruthBeing SingleThe Goodbye SongAwkwardnessDating SomeoneElephant In The RoomFirst DatesAwkward Silences
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“The face Isaac made when bonding with his aluminum toy would have made you smile. The innocence of it. It was one of those mind-lending activities that make us like people—like spying on someone playing the piano or solving a puzzle. Every person looks like a child when de-seeding a pomegranate. If you watch someone open a juice box, however old, you’ll see them young again—their soft, wondering face. It’s one of the most ephemeral beauties for the eyes to partake in.”

ReflectionAttractionInnocenceMaturityAdolescenceGetting OldThe Goodbye SongImmaturityBeing A KidInnocence And Age
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“I miss her so much. So much. I can’t sleep. I just cry. Sometimes when I’m in bed, and my arm loses circulation, or my leg is in a weird position, I think of her. Her stiffness. I just lay there, with my body, frozen, imagining if that’s what she feels like... I lay my tongue out like this, all dry." He deforms himself. "I twist my wrist, and I tell her, 'Goodnight.”

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“I think passions are a matter of chance. An unfair demand disguised as practicality. The most honest people I’ve ever met were those who didn’t know what to do with their life. I don’t blame them. We deserve to be, like, island people. Computer engineers. What would they call their passion if they were born 500 years ago? Right, then their passion would be architecture. But if computers didn’t exist then, and Jimmy loves programming...writing code... the sound of keyboards... and the specific glow of a computer screen... then you can call him lucky. There’s a good chance many of our passions haven’t been invented yet.”

FearCareersMoralityThe Goodbye SongPassionsPurposelessnessCareers In ArtFollowing Your DreamNot Knowing Life PurposeNot Knowing What To Do
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“At any given moment, everyone walks around with a laundry machine of vocabulary. Words spin and cycle in heads after fresh loads of new people, new ideas, and new encounters. This laundry machine of vocabulary hints at what we’re interested in, learning of, struggling with, and thinking about. It changes every few months. If you stick with a person long enough, while they may not confess to you that their family is dying, you wonder why they always come back to words like, “polka-dots,” “temperature” or phrases like “getting old” or “good morning, doc!”

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“Here’s one thing I can offer you C, and I’ll be brief. Please consider the budget. The company spends too much on food meant to allure newcomers. We invite people to events and say there’s Chipotle, and do you know comes? People who like Chipotle. We put our cause on the bottom of our newsletters and the “FREE FOOD” goes bright and center and we wonder why no one stays. If people want to come, they’ll come. We don’t need guacamole. We need people who are hungry for our mission.”

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“And when we go to sleep, we ought to greet the bed completely out of breath from the day. We must have tree sap on our hands from climbing. Sand in our pockets and not know how. There must be some fresh wound on our body somewhere—a cut on the ankle, a bruised eye, or a chipped tooth. Our lips are to be kissed by anyone happy, our fingernails dirty, and we might have brought a bug or two home with us. On our wrist should be two bracelets: one from the hospital and another from the concert that got us there. We should have freed the heart in a streak of spoken desire, kind attempts to hold another hand, and by missing a thousand former lovers that you wish the best. We must find a way to revel in the dissatisfaction of a weary heart.”

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