May 2013
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Bernal: Fine Lines on a Fair Day
cachronicles:
EYR
not even sleep is safe from my disenchantment.
i have plenty of faith in the institution itself. but chuck the wrench that is myself into the gears, and nothing is trustworthy. all week it has been a wellspring of anguish, this new barrier between the conscious and the un-. now it falls into the fold as an ultimately unsurprising failing. tension is as tension does. lessons demand learning. i have no energy to spare for histrionics. or for...
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mythologyofblue:
Home is a place you can never return to; when you do you will find it is someplace else.
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“Art is to console those who are broken by life.”
– Vincent Van Gogh (via petrichour)
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weather update
it never rained. clouds were prodded into a sullen blanket only to be bowled off by a fell wind. this morning in my voice lesson i was gifted unexpected words of praise by my teacher, which i will save for later. right now i assume they were offered only because i looked as close to “hellish” as i will allow myself to be in public (haggard, stonefaced, tense) hoping to placate me in...
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think heavy thoughts for the shower my town may...
i doubt any drops will fall before the clouds trudge off. the microclimate clings to caprice for its constant. but any of you who are braver than i may hope nevertheless.
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Listen
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“At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can.”
– Frida Kahlo (via ckgarden)
please be true. please.
“Zero is powerful because it is infinity’s twin. They are equal and opposite, yin...”
– Charles Seife, “Zero: The Biography of a Dangerous Idea” (via samsaranmusing)
still whirring.
in case i happened to have forgotten how much of a taut failure i am at this. whether the culprit is mind or body i cannot say. if a difference even persists. one. both. neither. shunning shutdown. i needed these past hours more than i knew until all i could do was lunge after them as they did pass (me by, awake, tenser and tenser each time).
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“Man is not what he thinks he is, he is what he hides.”
– André Malraux (via mythologyofblue)
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“I am
a series of
small victories
and large defeats
and I am as
amazed
as...”
– Charles Bukowski (via colinfirth)
exhausted maybe.
maybe now, i can sleep. maybe now there is nothing else.
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“Your heart may be badly bruised, or even the victim of numerous knifings, but it...”
– Chuck Palahniuk
(via wethinkwedream)
“As if the moon could haul through you
its tremor of light and stone”
– Neil Fischer
i did something to my neck earlier.
tried too hard to crack it, maybe. one side is all stiff and hurt. couldn’t sleep. so i went out to the kitchen (for what, who knows) and somehow ended up on the floor of the garage, a weeping mess. minutes trickled past in tens. car doors slamming and raucous laughter shoved me back to composure and i slunk into my corner just before my sister and her herd stomped in from the music festival...
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“Dusk, silence, iron chill. Something lonely in the bone.”
– Don DeLillo, White Noise (via weaverofstars)
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this.
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“By vast pains we mine into the pyramid; by horrible gropings we come to the...”
– Herman Melville (via mythologyofblue)
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“What if I told you I’m incapable of tolerating my own heart?”
– Virginia Woolf - Night and Day (via seabois)
“Nothing is more real than nothing.”
– Samuel Beckett, Malone Dies (via proustitute)
some friends coaxed and cajoled me into taking...
and it was fun, i suppose, insofar as it took a big commitment on my behalf to staying “on” and contributing to eating/drinking/gaietying. it felt, as it was, largely manufactured. it was kind of them to make sure i knew my absence was noted, at first, and then to drag me out when my low spirits refused to stay hidden. a few of them have seen me slip into more a semblance of myself than the actual...
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“There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy, and the tired.”
– F. Scott Fitzgerald (via likeafieldmouse)
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i just woke up from what i suppose you would call...
incredibly sad. but not afraid. fear is for the unknown.
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Listen
i should be bothered by the distance between...
i should be exasperated by now, if not anguished. either one with impetus behind it. but the closest i can muster is a vague sort of sadness. a shrug. an empty bed.
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“Tuesday:
Nothing. Existed.”
– Nausea, Jean-Paul Sartre (via undare)
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“‘Love should be put into action!’
screamed the old hermit.
Across the pond an...”
– Elizabeth Bishop, Chemin De Fer (via g-wretch)
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