I wrote another short story and this one is very short so it is definitely normal. It has no space to be weird.
read this i am so serious because What The Fuck
@cannellaeluce / cannellaeluce.tumblr.com
read this i am so serious because What The Fuck
“Well, let it pass, he thought; April is over, April is over. There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice.”
— The Sensible Thing - F. Scott Fitzgerald
“To make a new world you start with an old one, certainly. To find a world, maybe you have to have lost one. Maybe you have to be lost. The dance of renewal, the dance that made the world, was always danced here at the edge of things, on the brink, on the foggy coast.”
— Ursula K. Le Guin, Dancing at the Edge of the World: Thoughts on Words, Women, Places
Ursula K. Le Guin, from The Left Hand of Darkness
“She wanted to forget so much that she’s forgotten. She wanted to change so much she’s no longer herself; she has crossed so many woods and rivers that they’ve brought her to the sea to lose her,”
— Gabriela Mistral from Madwomen: Poems of Gabriela Mistral; She Who Walks. Trans. Randall Couch.
The older I get, the more I find that you can only live with those who free you, who love you with an affection that is as light to bear as it is strong to feel.
Today's life is too hard, too bitter, too anemic, for us to undergo new bondages, from whom we love [...]. This is how I am your friend, I love your happiness, your freedom, Your adventure in one word, and I would like to be for you the companion we are sure of, always.
—Albert Camus, Translated from Correspondance 1946-1959
Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), poem 85 from “The Gardener”, 1914 Translated by the author from the original Bengali. New York: The Macmillan Company.
[Text ID:
WHO are you, reader, reading my poems an hundred years hence?
I cannot send you one single flower from this wealth of the spring, one single streak of gold from yonder clouds.
Open your doors and look abroad.
From your blossoming garden gather fragrant memories of the vanished flowers of an hundred years before.
In the joy of your heart may you feel the living joy that sang one spring morning, sending its glad voice across an hundred years.
/End ID]
“What kind of person was Lancelot? I know about half the kind of person he was, because Malory contented himself with sharing the obvious half. He was more interested in the plot than the characters, and, as soon as he had laid down the broad lines of the latter, he left it at that. Malory’s Lancelot is: 1. Intensely sensitive to moral issues. 2. Ambitious of true - not current - distinction. 3. Probably sadistic or he would not have taken such frightful care to be gentle. 4. Superstitious or totemistic or whatever the word is. He connects his martial luck with virginity, like the schoolboy who thinks he will only bowl well in the march tomorrow if he does not abuse himself today. 5. Fastidious, monogamous, serious. 6. Ferociously punitive to his own body. He denies it and slave-drives it. 7. Devoted to ‘honour,’ which he regards as keeping promises and ‘having a Word.’ He tries to be consistent. 8. Curiously tolerant of other people who do not follow his own standards. He was not shocked by the lady who was naked as a needle. 9. Not without a sense of humour. It was a good joke dressing up as Kay. And he often says amusing things. 10. Fond of being alone. 11. Humble about his athleticism: not false modesty. 12. Self-critical. Aware of some big lack in himself. What was it? 13. Subject to pity, cf. no. 3. 14. Emotional. He is the only person Mallory mentions as crying from relief. 15. Highly strung: subject to nervous breakdowns. 16. Yet practical. He ends by dealing with the Guenever situation pretty well. He is a good man to have with you in a tight corner. 17. Homosexual? Can a person be ambi-sexual - bisexual or whatever? His treatment of young boys like Gareth and Cote Male Tale is very tender and his feeling for Arthur profound. Yet I do so want not to have to write a ‘modern’ novel about him. I could only bring myself to mention this trait, if it is a trait, in the most oblique way. 18. Human. He firmly believes that for him it is a choice between God and Guenever, and he takes Guenever. He says: This is wrong and against my will, but I can’t help it. It seems to me that no 12 is the operative number in this list. What was the lack? On first inspection one would be inclined to link it up with no 17, but I don’t understand about bisexuality, so can’t write about it. There was definitely something ‘wrong’ with Lancelot, in the common sense, and this was what turned him into a genius. It is very troublesome. People he was like: 1. Lawrence of Arabia, 2. A nice captain of the cricket, 3. Parnell, 4. Sir W. Raleigh, 5. Hamlet, 6. me, 7. Prince Rufant, 8. Montros, 9. Tony Ireland or Von Simm […] or whatever, 10. Any mad man, 11. Adam.”
— T.H. White’s notes on the character of Lancelot. (via the-library-and-step-on-it)
“J'ai fini de mettre en mots ce qui m'apparaît comme une expérience humaine totale, de la vie et de la mort, du temps, de la morale et de l'interdit, de la loi, une expérience vécue d'un bout à l'autre au travers du corps.
J’ai effacé la seule culpabilité que j’aie jamais éprouvée à propos de cet événement, qu’il me soit arrivé et que je n’en aie rien fait. Comme un don reçu et gaspillé. Comme un don reçu et gaspillé. Car par-delà toutes les raisons sociales et psychologiques que je peux trouver à tout ce que j’ai vécu, il en est une dont je suis sûre plus que tout: les choses me sont arrivées pour que j’en rende compte. Et le véritable but de ma vie est peut-être seulement celui-ci: que mon corps, mes sensations et mes pensées deviennent de l’écriture, c’est-à-dire quelque chose d’intelligible et de général, mon existence complètement dissoute dans la tête et la vie des autres.”
L’évènement, Annie Ernaux
“It is six in the morning. There is only a free dog hesitating on the beach, a black dog. Why is a dog so free? Because it is the living mystery that doesn’t wonder about itself.”
Clarice Lispector, “The Waters of the World” (trans. Katarina Dodson)
i’m watching an ocean vuong video right now and he just said “language is real. the power of it is that it gets deeper than any human touch. if i were to touch you right now, i would only get to your skin. but when i speak to you, i’m all the way through”
”The groans of lovers as they make love are more real than the greatest lyric poetry ever written. But they cannot be preserved. Art is not a means of pickling. […] What separates my hands when working from my direct experience of my subject is not a barrier in space like a curtain. It is more like a barrier in time. Between the idea I have and the work I produce, there is the same difference as between my action yesterday and its final consequence tomorrow. Intentions, good or bad, are no more important in art than in life. Any action is judged by its consequences.”
— John Berger, A Painter of Our Time: A Novel
“Flowers only, and the moonlight-coloured May.”
— Virginia Woolf, from The Complete Works; “The Waves,” published c. 1931
Richard Siken, from Spork Press’ Editor’s Pages: “The Long and the Short of It” (via soracities)
“Let me tell you about love, that silly word you believe is about whether you like somebody or whether somebody likes you or whether you can put up with somebody in order to get something or someplace you want or you believe it has to do with how your body responds to another body like robins or bison or maybe you believe love is how forces or nature or luck is benign to you in particular not maiming or killing you but if so doing it for your own good.
Love is none of that. There is nothing in nature like that. Not in robins or bison or in the banging tails of your hunting dogs and not in blossoms or suckling foal. Love is divine only and difficult always. If you think it is easy you are a fool. If you think it is natural you are blind. It is a learned application without reason or motive except that it is God.
You do not deserve love regardless of the suffering you have endured. You do not deserve love because somebody did you wrong. You do not deserve love just because you want it. You can only earn—by practice and careful contemplation—the right to express it and you have to learn how to accept it. Which is to say you have to earn God. You have to practice God. You have to think God—carefully. And if you are a good and diligent student you may secure the right to show love. Love is not a gift. It is a diploma. A diploma conferring certain privileges: the privilege of expressing love and the privilege of receiving it.
“How do you know you have graduated?” You don’t. What you do know is that you are human and therefore educable, and therefore capable of learning how to learn, and therefore interesting to God, who is interested only in Himself which is to say He is interested only in love. Do you understand me? God is not interested in you. He is interested in love and the bliss it brings to those who understand and share that interest.”
—Toni Morrison from Paradise
Susan Sontag, from Alice In Bed: A Play
Text ID: I have these grand thoughts, moments when my mind is flooded by a luminous wave that fills me with the sense of potency of vitality of understanding, and I feel I've pierced the mystery of the universe...
John Berger, A Painter of Our Time: A Novel (via soracities)