lol Fe polr: how cruel your veins are boiling and mine are full of ice water
lol Fe polr: how cruel your veins are boiling and mine are full of ice water
I command you to grow!
C.T. Fletcher
Whereof one cannot speak thereof one must be silent, Wittgenstein
Elena, I wander around my room and while you're drinking tea at the golden bottom of a nice September, I shudder for your health. Ah, the moon, the moon obsesses me. Alas! I do not feel like marrying, I'm too despicable for this; you are not intractable enough ... And I struggle along, I struggle along. I'm too numerous to say yes or no, I feel too crazy; as a married man I would mangle the mouth of my beloved and fallen on my knees I would tell her these shady words: it is too much, it is too much, my heart is too central and you are nothing but human flesh; you can not, you can not find me so unfair if I hurt you. In truth, the more we get ecstatic together and the less we agree. In truth, life is too short.
Carmelo Bene
''What, indeed, does man know of himself! Can he even once perceive himself completely, laid out as if in an illuminated glass case? Does not nature keep much the most from him, even about his body, to spellbind and confine him in a proud, deceptive consciousness, far from the coils of the intestines, the quick current of the blood stream, and the involved tremors of the fibers? She threw away the key; and woe to the calamitous curiosity which might peer just once through a crack in the chamber of consciousness and look down, and sense that man rests upon the merciless, the greedy, the insatiable, the murderous, in the indifference of his ignorance—hanging in dreams, as it were, upon the back of a tiger. In view of this, whence in all the world comes the urge for truth?''
.Originally Posted by Abraham Lincoln
The motion between two rests is the image of the present between past and future. The weaver, who makes his fabric, always makes what is not.
-Heidegger
4w3-5w6-8w7
“I couldn’t change the wind but perhaps I could reduce the effect of the wind on the boat.”
“I keep thinking about this river somewhere, with the water moving really fast. And these two people in the water, trying to hold onto each other, holding on as hard as they can, but in the end it's just too much. The current's too strong. They've got to let go, drift apart. That's how it is with us. It's a shame, Kath, because we've loved each other all our lives. But in the end, we can't stay together forever.”
― Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go
the lines that made me cry:
“That was the only time, as I stood there, looking at that strange rubbish, feeling the wind coming across those empty fields, that I started to imagine just a little fantasy thing, because this was Norfolk after all, and it was only a couple of weeks since I’d lost him. I was thinking about the rubbish, the flapping plastic in the branches, the shore-line of odd stuff caught along the fencing, and I half-closed my eyes and imagined this was the spot where everything I'd ever lost since my childhood had washed up, and I was now standing here in front of it, and if I waited long enough, a tiny figure would appear on the horizon across the field, and gradually get larger until I'd see it was Tommy, and he'd wave, maybe even call. The fantasy never got beyond that --I didn't let it-- and though the tears rolled down my face, I wasn't sobbing or out of control. I just waited a bit, then turned back to the car, to drive off to wherever it was I was supposed to be.”
― Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go
''...as a breath of wind or some echo rebounds from smooth, hard surfaces and returns to the source from which it issued, so the stream of beauty passes back into its possessor through his eyes, which is its natural route to the soul; arriving there and setting him all aflutter, it waters the passages of the feathers and causes the wings to grow, and fills the soul of the loved one in his turn with love.''
Not reading Zhuangzi right now, but he's my favourite writer/philosopher, so i thought i would post a good passage
When Zhuangzi was going to Ch' u he saw by the roadside a skull, clean and bare, but with every bone in its place. Touching it gently with his chariot-whip he bent over it and asked it saying, "Sir, was it some insatiable ambition that drove you to transgress the law and brought you to this? Was it the fall of a kingdom, the blow of an executioner's axe that brought you to this? Or had you done some shameful deed and could not face the reproaches of father and mother, of wife and child, and so were brought to this? Was it hunger and cold that brought you to this, or was it that the springs and autumns of your span had in due course carried you to this?"
Having thus addressed the skull, he put it under his head as a pillow and went to sleep. At midnight the skull appeared to him in a dream and said to him, "All that you said to me-- your glib, commonplace chatter-- is just what I should expect from a live man, showing as it does in every phrase a mind hampered by trammels from which we dead are entirely free. Would you like to hear a word or two about the dead?"
"I certainly would," said Zhuangzi.
"Among the dead," said the skull, "none is king, none is subject, there is no division of the seasons; for us the whole world is spring, the whole world is autumn. No monarch on his throne has joy greater than ours."
Zhuangzi did not believe this. "Suppose," he said, "I could get the Clerk of Destinies to make your frame anew, to clothe your bones once more with flesh and skin, send you back to father and mother, wife and child, friends and home, I do not think you would refuse."
A deep frown furrowed the skeleton's brow. "How can you imagine," it asked, "that I would cast away joy greater than that of a king on his throne, only to go back again to the toils of the living world?"
Together we fall.
Together we fall deeper.
Nothing is to end our ecstatic conquest.
Undoing all that was said and done before we came.
Unseeing everything with our eyes.
We do not live in the same place.
We weren't introduced.
Please don't send us flowers. Send secrets.
Metahaven Collective
“Some birds are not meant to be caged, that's all. Their feathers are too bright, their songs too sweet and wild. So you let them go, or when you open the cage to feed them they somehow fly out past you. And the part of you that knows it was wrong to imprison them in the first place rejoices, but still, the place where you live is that much more drab and empty for their departure.” ― Stephen King
The North Wind boasted of great strength. The Sun argued that there was great power in gentleness.
"We shall have a contest," said the Sun.
Far below, a man traveled a winding road. He was wearing a warm winter coat.
"As a test of strength," said the Sun, "Let us see which of us can take the coat off that man."
"It will be quite simple for me to force him to remove his coat," bragged the Wind.
The Wind blew so hard, the birds clung to the trees. The world was filled with dust and leaves.
But the harder the Wind blew down the road, the tighter the shivering man clung to his coat.
Then, the Sun came out from behind a cloud, it warmed the air and the frosty ground. The man on the road unbuttoned his coat.
The Sun slowly grew brighter and brighter. Soon the man felt so hot, he took off his coat and sat down in a shady spot.
"How did you do that?" said the Wind.
"It was easy," said the Sun, "I lit the day. Through gentleness I got my way."
Lesley u'll never land a beau with that domineering tone
We now know that to be untrue, dont we?
"Chance is always powerful; let your hook always be cast in a pool where you least expect there will be fish."
Ovid
“There are not more than five musical notes, yet the combinations of these five give rise to more melodies than can ever be heard.
There are not more than five primary colours, yet in combination
they produce more hues than can ever been seen.
There are not more than five cardinal tastes, yet combinations of
them yield more flavours than can ever be tasted.”
Sun Tzu
“All right, he thought, take one thing at a time. Just one thing. I poked my leg with an arrow. There. Good. I pulled the arrow out. My leg still works. It must not have been a broadhead because it didn't go in very deep. Good. My tent collapsed. There. Another thing. I'm in a tent and it collapsed. I just have to find the front zipper and get out and climb up the bank. Easy now, easy. Something hit me on the head. What? Something big that thunked. The canoe. The wind picked up the canoe and it hit me.” – Gary Paulsen, Hatchet
RATIONAL, adj. Devoid of all delusions save those of observation, experience and reflection.
REASON, v.i. To weight probabilities in the scales of desire.
REASON, n. Propensitate of prejudice.
REASONABLE, adj. Accessible to the infection of our own opinions. Hospitable to persuasion, dissuasion and evasion.
~ Ambrose Bierce, The Devil's Dictionary
That's when the cannibalism started.
Jeffrey Dahmer
"For all his good nature, Adara did not like Hal; when Hal was there, it meant that winter was far away. Besides, there had been a night when she was only four, and they thought her long asleep, that she overheard them talking over wine. “A solemn little thing,” Hal said. “You ought to be kinder to her, John. You cannot blame her for what happened.” “Can’t I?” her father replied, his voice thick with wine. “No, I suppose not. But it is hard. She looks like Beth, but she has none of Beth’s warmth. The winter is in her, you know. Whenever I touch her I feel the chill, and I remember that it was for her that Beth had to die.” “You are cold to her. You do not love her as you do the others.” Adara remembered the way her father laughed then. “Love her? Ah, Hal. I loved her best of all, my little winter child. But she has never loved back. There is nothing in her for me, or you, any of us. She is such a cold little girl.” And then he had begun to weep, even though it was summer and Hal was with him. In her bed, Adara listened and wished that Hal would fly away. She did not quite understand all that she had heard, not then, but she remembered it, and the understanding came later."
― George R.R. Martin, The Ice Dragon
This book has been on my to-read list forever.
The brain-disease model overlooks four fundamental truths: (1) our capacity to destroy one another is matched by our capacity to heal one another. Restoring relationships and community is central to restoring well-being; (2) language gives us the power to change ourselves and others by communicating our experiences, helping us to define what we know, and finding a common sense of meaning; (3) we have the ability to regulate our own physiology, including some of the so-called involuntary functions of the body and brain, through such basic activities as breathing, moving, and touching; and (4) we can change social conditions to create environments in which children and adults can feel safe and where they can thrive. When we ignore these quintessential dimensions of humanity, we deprive people of ways to heal from trauma and restore their autonomy. Being a patient, rather than a participant in one’s healing process, separates suffering people from their community and alienates them from an inner sense of self.
Bessel van der Kolk, The Body Keeps the Score
WANDERING
I ran away, hands stuck in pockets that seemed
All holes; my jacket was a holey ghost as well.
I followed you, Muse! Beneath your spell,
Oh, la, la, what glorious loves I dreamed!
I tore my shirt; I threw away my tie.
Dreamy Hop o' my Thumb, I made rhymes
As I ran. I slept out most of the time.
The stars above me rustled through the sky.
I heard them on the roadsides where I stopped
Those fine September nights, when the dew dropped
On my face and I licked it to get drunk.
i made up rhymes in dark and scary places,
And like a lyre I plucked the tired laces
Of my worn-out shoes, one foot beneath my heart.
Arthur Rimbaud
“How long does it take for people to untangle themselves from one another or is the idea that I am tied around so many other human beings nothing but an excuse for not wanting to let go But lets imagine I am a ball of thread long and red and easily snapped full of sticks and leaves and other peoples bones all the things I’ve picked up over the years though I don’t know I really meant to they just got too caught to become uncaught I suppose that’s how everything ends up in me We’ve lived here for a year or less and I have wrapped my fingers around a few of you or less I’ve wound myself about you so softly even I didn’t realize it was happening and now here we stand about to tumble or are we already falling I can’t tell And I am wondering how long will I run how much of me is there really how far can I stretch how much can I catch before I’ve lost were I end and where the world begins”— A.O.A.M. || Thread
Everybody’s got a story that comes from a sad story that lives in a bad story.
Stop telling it. Perfect
probably isn’t what you think it is.
What are we even aiming at when we use that word?
There will be a lot of shooting.
Most of it won’t be straight. Don’t worry.
You don’t have to be good at everything.
There are so many people here.
If you really want to do something flawless
stay present. Your fate
is just another word for now, just another name for transmute density.
Meditation is critical. And mercy. Have mercy.
These bodies are a sticky hologram.
Being human does not require any further context.
Your expectations of me are not my responsibility.
Those are yours.
Everyone gets the same amount of time to live their lives.
I want to be a reliable narrator for living
so I’ll just tell you the worst of it first and be done with it.
Realizing the transparency of my neediness was dignity well spent.
Forgiveness is a matter of advocating for dignity.
When my body came home from the shame experiment
the first thing I saw was its resolve.
If you still aren’t willing to cut every loss you are not yet prepared to qualify.
Cut the loss. The story of it. I stopped being nostalgic
when I started keeping up.
Seeing a man run as fast as he can still gives me goosebumps.
I’m not scared to die, I just don’t want it to hurt.
I bet the biggest misconception about death is that we won’t care anymore.
I will never not love you.
Trying to hide the absence of your love is a mathematical impossibility.
You were the year I wished my life on other people.
Magnets are incapable of lying.
Darkness is redundant. I wanted us to be the truth.
I meant to do it correctly.
In loving gain of our memory. And mercy.
Do not flake on the blessing.
There is every such thing. We were every such thing.
I may have been grossly underprepared to receive love.
Was it even in this lifetime that we knew each other?
Tonight I painted my apartment and remembered every life I’ve ever lived
including the one where you read this.
Was I really too sensitive, or were you just too unconscious?
Maybe we work our way to the middle.
Maybe we work our way into what we are.
Why don’t you want to know what we are?
I’ll cut your costume loose. Cut you right out of it.
When something is absent it is absolutely not in your way.
Get in my way. Come remind me what we are together. Do it soon.
Soon we will have to say what we have to say to each other’s faces.
Mine is I love you. Mine is Have mercy.
I just wanted to throw something as hard as I could.
I wasn’t paying attention to what it would do when it landed.”
- Buddy Wakefield, from his upcoming 2019 book, A Choir of Honest Killers.
Who would you change for?
The maples change more in an hour of wind than we change.
The aspens shatter light I have felt the leaves in their wind-glittering
strangeness. Let go
the town and its dry river paths the white bellies of the swallows
under the bridge flashing in the last minutes of dusk and I knew I could not
continue as I had been nor did I sense a course.
[…]
What would you give up if you could give up
anything. When were you afraid there is no extreme need that is not
warped by fear. What does the world
require of you have you loved the time you have spent here.
Was it because of the people with you. Or that the silence
was never silence it was always the fan’s white noise in the window
at night and below that the new rain on the grass
and below that the grass as it bends under the water
and night buried under the water and the town
at night under rain and grateful for rain in this dry season.
—Joanna Klink, from “Sorting,” in Raptus
"When I was a lad I served a term
As office boy to an Attorney's firm.
I cleaned the windows and I swept the floor,
And I polished up the handle of the big front door.
(He polished up the handle of the big front door.)
I polished up that handle so carefully
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navy!
(He polished up that handle so carefullee,
That now he is the ruler of the Queen's Navee!)
As office boy I made such a mark
That they gave me the post of a junior clerk.
I served the writs with a smile so bland,
And I copied all the letters in a big round hand.
(He copied all the letters in a big round hand.)
I copied all the letters in a hand so free,
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!
(He copied all the letters in a hand so free,
That now he is the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!)
In serving writs I made such a name
That an articled clerk I soon became;
I wore clean collars and a brand-new suit
For the passed examination at the Institute.
(For the passed examination at the Institute.)
That passed examination did so well for me,
That now I am the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!
(That passed examination did so well for he,
That now he is the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!)
Of legal knowledge I acquired such a grip
That they took me into the partnership.
And that junior partnership, I ween,
Was the only ship that I ever had seen.
(Was the only ship that he ever had seen.)
But that kind of ship so suited me,
That now I am the ruler of the Queen's Navee!
(But that kind of ship so suited he,
That now he is the ruler of the Queen's Navee!)
I grew so rich that I was sent
By a pocket borough into Parliament.
I always voted at my party's call,
And I never thought of thinking for myself at all.
(He never thought of thinking for himself at all.)
I thought so little, they rewarded me
By making me the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!
(He thought so little, they rewarded he
By making him the Ruler of the Queen's Navee!)
Now landsmen all, whoever you may be,
If you want to rise to the top of the tree,
If your soul isn't fettered to an office stool,
Be careful to be guided by this golden rule.
(Be careful to be guided by this golden rule.)
Stick close to your desks and never go to sea,
And you all may be rulers of the Queen's Navee!
(Stick close to your desks and never go to sea,
And you all may be rulers of the Queen's Navee!)"
From H.M.S. Pinafore by Gilbert & Sullivan
My principles
Obey the laws of the land, even if you disagree with some of them. Honour your contracts and do not bear false witness.
Don't take pleasure in another's pain or use their vulnerabilities against them.
Maintain a joyous (and very dirty) sense of humor.
Focus on how you can become better, not on what you think other people are doing wrong.
Be curious, aim to learn something new every day and keep an eye out for the strange and unusual.
"The beings I love are creatures. They were born by chance. My meeting with them was also by chance. They will die. What they think, do, and say is limited and is a mixture of good and evil. I have to know this with all my soul and not love them less. I have to imitate God who infinitely loves finite things in that they are finite things. We want everything which has value to be eternal. Now everything which has a value is a product of a meeting, lasts throughout this meeting and ceases when those things which met are separated. That is the central idea of Buddhism (the thought of Heraclitus). It leads straight to God. Meditation on chance which led to the meeting of my father and mother is even more salutary than meditation on death. Is there a single thing in me of which the origin is not to be found in that meeting? Only God. And yet again, my thought of God had its origin in that meeting. Stars and blossoming fruit-trees: utter permanence and extreme fragility give an equal sense of eternity. The theories about progress and the ‘genius which always pierces through’ arise from the fact that it is intolerable to suppose that what is most precious in the world should be given over to chance. It is because it is intolerable that it ought to be contemplated. Creation is this very thing. The only good which is not subject to chance is that which is outside the world. The vulnerability of precious things is beautiful because vulnerability is a mark of existence. The destruction of Troy. The fall of the petals from fruit trees in blossom. To know that what is most precious is not rooted in existence–that is beautiful. Why? It projects the soul beyond time. The woman who wishes for a child white as snow and red as blood gets it, but she dies and the child is given over to a stepmother.”
Simone Weil.
Last edited by ashlesha; 10-09-2018 at 07:58 PM.
““[R]eal love” is not the love that I would call sublime, the love in which we let ourselves be completely dazzled or “blinded” by an abstract dimension of the loved object, so that we no longer see, or can’t bear to see, its concrete existence (and its always somewhat ridiculous, banal aspect). This kind of “sublime love” indeed necessitates and generates a radical inaccessibility of the other (which usually takes the form of eternal preliminaries, of an inaccessible object of choice, or the form of an intermittent relationship that enables us to reintroduce the distance appropriate to the inaccessible, and thereby to “resublimate” the object after each “use”). But neither is real love simply something that takes its object “such as it is,” in the sense of homogeneity and (uninterrupted) continuity of its presence as real. It is only at the moment when we fall in love that a loved object “coincides” with an existing object, and this coincidence marks a break in the continuity of our (and our lover’s) reality. This paradoxical—or, indeed, comical—coincidence is precisely what tears us (and our lover) from the continuity of our presence in reality, and it does so by /(re)installing/ us there, as if for the first time.”
— Zupančič, A., 2017. What Is Sex? Cambridge: MIT Press. p. 137
"Even a hunter cannot kill a bird that flies to him for refuge."
-Samurai maxim
Yesterday, upon the stair,
I met a man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
I wish, I wish he’d go away...
When I came home last night at three
The man was waiting there for me
But when I looked around the hall
I couldn’t see him there at all!
Go away, go away, don’t you come back any more!
Go away, go away, and please don’t slam the door... (slam!)
Last night I saw upon the stair
A little man who wasn’t there
He wasn’t there again today
Oh, how I wish he’d go away...
-William Hughes Mearns
The mind is restless and difficult to restrain, but it is subdued by practice
-Krishna
The trip to inner space [deep sea waters] in many ways is more treacherous than a trip to outer space. The pressures are enormous
A man who is doing his True Will has the inertia of the Universe to assist him.
Aleister Crowley
"I assure you I am the book of Fate. Questions are my enemies. For my questions explode. Answers leap up like a frightened flock blackening the sky of my inescapable memories. Not one answer. Not one suffices. What prisms flash when I enter the terrible dead field of my past. What I am, a chip of shattered flint enclosed in a box. The box gyrates and quakes. I am tossed about in storm of mysteries. And when the box opens, I return to this presence like a stranger in a primitive land." -Frank Herbert.
like fuuk, so true.
"Quiet friend who has come so far, feel how your breathing makes more space around you. Let this darkness be a bell tower and you the bell. As you ring, what batters you becomes your strength. Move back and forth into the change. What is it like, such intensity of pain? If the drink is bitter, turn yourself to wine. In this uncontainable night, be the mystery at the crossroads of your senses, the meaning discovered there. And if the world has ceased to hear you, say to the silent earth: I flow. To the rushing water, speak: I am.”
— Ranier Maria Rilke, Sonnets to Orpheus II, 29
Beautiful.
"A small artist is content with art; a great artist is content with nothing except everything." - G. K. Chesterton
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