She never lets me in
only tells me where she's been
when she's had too much to drink
I say that I don't care, I just run my hands
through her dark hair then I pray to God
you gotta help me fly away
The result of literature infiltrating and winding itself so intrinsically around the mind as to be no longer distinctly distinguishable: the original and the implanted.
Sunday, December 18, 2011
Friday, December 2, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
The Awakening
Edna walked away on down to the beach rather mechanically, not noticing anything special except that the sun was hot. She was not dwelling upon any particular train of thought. She had done all the thinking which was necessary after Robert went away, when she lay awake upon the sofa till morning.
She had said over and over to herself: "To-day it is Arobin; to-morrow it will be some one else. It makes no difference to me, it doesn't matter about Leonce Pontellier--but Raoul and Etienne!" She understood now clearly what she had meant long ago when she said to Adele Ratignolle that she would give up the unessential, but she would never sacrifice herself for her children.
Despondency had come upon her there in the wakeful night, and had never lifted. There was no one thing in the world that she desired. There was no human being whom she wanted near her except Robert; and she even realized that the day would come when he, too, and the thought of him would melt out of her existence, leaving her alone. The children appeared before her like antagonists who had overcome her; who had overpowered and sought to drag into the soul's slavery for the rest of her days. But she knew a way to elude them. She was not thinking of these things when she walked down to the beach.
The water of the Gulf stretched out before her, gleaming with the million lights of the sun. The voice of the sea is seductive, never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander in abysses of solitude. All along the white beach, up and down, there was no living thing in sight. A bird with a broken wing was beating the air above, reeling, fluttering, circling disabled down, down to the water.
Edna had found her old bathing suit still hanging, faded, upon its accustomed peg.
She put it on, leaving her clothing in the bath-house. But when she was there beside the sea, absolutely alone, she cast the unpleasant, pricking garments form her, and for the first time in her life she stood naked in the open air, at the mercy of the sun, the breeze that beat upon her, and the waves that invited her.
How strange and awful it seemed to stand naked under the sky! how delicious ! She felt like some new-born creature, opening its eyes in a familiar world that it had never known.
The foamy wavelets curled up to her white feet, and coiled like serpents about her ankles. She walked out. The water was chill, but she walked on. The water was deep, but she lifted her white body and reached out with a long, sweeping stroke. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.
She went on and on. She remembered the night she swam far out, and recalled the terror that seized her at the fear of being unable to regain the shore. She did not look back now, but went on and on, thinking of the blue-grass meadow that she had traversed when a little child, believing that it had no beginning and no end.
Her arms and legs were growing tired.
She thought of Leonce and the children. They were a part of her life. But they need not have thought that they could possess her, body and soul. How Mademoiselle Reisz would have laughed, perhaps sneered, if she knew! "And you call yourself an artist! What pretensions, Madame! The artist must possess the courageous soul that dares and defies."
Exhaustion was pressing upon and overpowering her.
"Good-by--because, I love you." He did not know; he did not understand. He would never understand. Perhaps Doctor Mandelet would have understood if she had seen him--but it was too late; the shore was far behind her, and her strength was gone.
She looked into the distance, and the old terror flamed up for an instant, then sank again. Edna heard her father's voice and her sister Margaret's. She heard the barking of an old dog that was chained to the sycamore tree. The spurs of the cavalry officer clanged as he walked across the porch. There was the hum of bees, and the musky odor of pinks filled the air.
--Kate Chopin--
She had said over and over to herself: "To-day it is Arobin; to-morrow it will be some one else. It makes no difference to me, it doesn't matter about Leonce Pontellier--but Raoul and Etienne!" She understood now clearly what she had meant long ago when she said to Adele Ratignolle that she would give up the unessential, but she would never sacrifice herself for her children.
Despondency had come upon her there in the wakeful night, and had never lifted. There was no one thing in the world that she desired. There was no human being whom she wanted near her except Robert; and she even realized that the day would come when he, too, and the thought of him would melt out of her existence, leaving her alone. The children appeared before her like antagonists who had overcome her; who had overpowered and sought to drag into the soul's slavery for the rest of her days. But she knew a way to elude them. She was not thinking of these things when she walked down to the beach.
The water of the Gulf stretched out before her, gleaming with the million lights of the sun. The voice of the sea is seductive, never ceasing, whispering, clamoring, murmuring, inviting the soul to wander in abysses of solitude. All along the white beach, up and down, there was no living thing in sight. A bird with a broken wing was beating the air above, reeling, fluttering, circling disabled down, down to the water.
Edna had found her old bathing suit still hanging, faded, upon its accustomed peg.
She put it on, leaving her clothing in the bath-house. But when she was there beside the sea, absolutely alone, she cast the unpleasant, pricking garments form her, and for the first time in her life she stood naked in the open air, at the mercy of the sun, the breeze that beat upon her, and the waves that invited her.
How strange and awful it seemed to stand naked under the sky! how delicious ! She felt like some new-born creature, opening its eyes in a familiar world that it had never known.
The foamy wavelets curled up to her white feet, and coiled like serpents about her ankles. She walked out. The water was chill, but she walked on. The water was deep, but she lifted her white body and reached out with a long, sweeping stroke. The touch of the sea is sensuous, enfolding the body in its soft, close embrace.
She went on and on. She remembered the night she swam far out, and recalled the terror that seized her at the fear of being unable to regain the shore. She did not look back now, but went on and on, thinking of the blue-grass meadow that she had traversed when a little child, believing that it had no beginning and no end.
Her arms and legs were growing tired.
She thought of Leonce and the children. They were a part of her life. But they need not have thought that they could possess her, body and soul. How Mademoiselle Reisz would have laughed, perhaps sneered, if she knew! "And you call yourself an artist! What pretensions, Madame! The artist must possess the courageous soul that dares and defies."
Exhaustion was pressing upon and overpowering her.
"Good-by--because, I love you." He did not know; he did not understand. He would never understand. Perhaps Doctor Mandelet would have understood if she had seen him--but it was too late; the shore was far behind her, and her strength was gone.
She looked into the distance, and the old terror flamed up for an instant, then sank again. Edna heard her father's voice and her sister Margaret's. She heard the barking of an old dog that was chained to the sycamore tree. The spurs of the cavalry officer clanged as he walked across the porch. There was the hum of bees, and the musky odor of pinks filled the air.
--Kate Chopin--
Tuesday, November 22, 2011
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Murder of One
I dreamt I saw you walking up a hillside in the snow
Casting shadows on the winter sky as you stood there counting crows
One for sorrow
Two for joy
Three for girls and four for boys
Five for silver
Six for gold and
Seven for a secret never to be told
There's a bird that nests inside you
Sleeping underneath your skin
When you open up your wings to speak
I wish you'd let me in
All your life is such a shame
All your love is just a dream
Open up your eyes
You can see the flames
of your wasted life
You should be ashamed
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Wild Horses
I know I dreamed you a sin and a lie I've got my freedom but I don't have much time A faith has been broken, tears must be cried Let's do some livin', after love has died-The Rolling Stones-
Wednesday, November 9, 2011
but I'm not a situation that has a solution. i have no definitions. there's just me. and maybe at the end of years you may still feel like you don't exactly know me. but baby you're just wrong. maybe you can't look into my eyes and read my thoughts as plainly as i read yours. maybe i still do things that completely throw you. maybe when you hold me you still feel my body tense in fight or flight. but you know my sleepy eyes. and you know i love jazz when it rains and when it snows. and you feel my body search for yours before it's really awake. and you know that you've crawled and nestled your way into the innermost of my heart and if i attempted to rip you out you would carry a large portion of the mass in your grasping "little" hands. so why, why is this not enough of me for you?
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
The inward fire eats the soft marrow away,
And the internal wound bleeds on in silence.
Unlucky Dido, burning, in her madness
Roamed through all the city, like a doe
Hit by an arrow shot from far away
By a shepherd hunting in the Cretan woods--
Hit by surprise, nor could the hunter see
His flying steel had fixed itself in her;
But though she runs for life through copse and glade
The fatal shaft clings to her side.
The Aeneid
Sunday, September 18, 2011
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Then everything that was, was different, and everything that had been brought a new light. She looked down at her fingers, laced in perfect harmony with his, and watched as the blood trickled down, from her perfect cuticles to the tips, and she knew. beyond knowing. that this reality, she could never believe in. and the words he said would never be truth.
Monday, July 25, 2011
"I know this much, is all," Franny said. "If you're a poet, you do something beautiful. I mean you're supposed to leave something beautiful after you get off the page and everything.The ones you're talking about don't leave a single, solitary thing beautiful. All that maybe the slightly better ones do is sort of get inside your head and leave something there, but just because they do, just because they know how to leave something, it doesn't have to be a poem, for heaven's sake. It may just be some kind of terribly fascinating, syntaxy droppings--excuse the expression. Like Manlius and Esposito and all those poor men."
~Salinger, Franny and Zooey
~Salinger, Franny and Zooey
Monday, July 11, 2011
this beautiful world
(background: on my run sometimes I'll stop at favored park benches to look at the river/city especially at sundown. Tonight an adorable older man, with a bowtie, sat next to me. His opening line: My wife and I used to sit here nearly every night during the summer at about this time. we eventually got to the following; one of those perfect conversations with a perfect stranger that force you to fall in love with this perfect, even when it doesn't appear to be, world.)
Me: How did you know you were in love?
LovelyOlderMan: There was no other way to know Her. But I think I loved her before I ever even knew I did.
M: Did you ever believe you were in love before?
LOM: I thought I was in love with another. Kind, Sweet, very Pretty--the whole nine yards; we were supposed to get married. Then I saw Her cry.
M:
LOM: I never knew my heart could break so much or hurt so badly.
M:
LOM: 55 years and She stops my heart everytime. (chuckle) and she knows it. I'm wrapped around her little finger. (smile) but I get to hold it too, so it's ok.
M: Do you ever think what if you had stayed with the other girl?
LOM: My life might have been a lot simpler (chuckle). But then... She brings...she brought... Beauty to...everything. No. There would have been no life without Her. No...no life at all.
(maybe it's corny... maybe he's a crazy old man who made the entire thing up. or maybe he just belonged to a different time when life was... just lovelier. Either way, he was wonderful and that moment will remain perfect in my mind forever)
Me: How did you know you were in love?
LovelyOlderMan: There was no other way to know Her. But I think I loved her before I ever even knew I did.
M: Did you ever believe you were in love before?
LOM: I thought I was in love with another. Kind, Sweet, very Pretty--the whole nine yards; we were supposed to get married. Then I saw Her cry.
M:
LOM: I never knew my heart could break so much or hurt so badly.
M:
LOM: 55 years and She stops my heart everytime. (chuckle) and she knows it. I'm wrapped around her little finger. (smile) but I get to hold it too, so it's ok.
M: Do you ever think what if you had stayed with the other girl?
LOM: My life might have been a lot simpler (chuckle). But then... She brings...she brought... Beauty to...everything. No. There would have been no life without Her. No...no life at all.
(maybe it's corny... maybe he's a crazy old man who made the entire thing up. or maybe he just belonged to a different time when life was... just lovelier. Either way, he was wonderful and that moment will remain perfect in my mind forever)
just illusions
there was a point in my insanity when i deeply believed you loved me. it was a test i had failed. the thing is i knew you didn't. but i had to believe. for me. it was great. great. it's an awful word. it's an ugly word. appearance wise. great. awful. it grates on your teeth like a first grade teacher who patronizes you with those little colorful stickers you are supposed to treasure and place on the inside cover of your notebook. everyone knows it was only the scented ones that mattered at all. but the non recieved their place and forced love as well. it's a joke. a trip. being a kid. pretending to be a kid when all you wanted to do was give the sticker to the giggly girl next to you and tell her that she clearly needed it more. unless it was something orginal, something creative. not words or facts memorized but i story released from your own heart and appreciated by another's ears. then a sticker was golden. only if from one respected. otherwise the preference would easily be a confused smile. that look like they couldn't tell just what to make of it. or you. that was worth a hundred stickers. a thousand. my entire childhood. you gave me that crooked smile. then you walked away. but there was pain there, with the accustomed thrill. maybe i had wanted you to. you know, read me between the lines. or maybe i just believed i did. it's just an illusion. it doesn't mean anything. just little pieces of adhesive paper, once in awhile they simply smelled better--but it made your world.
there was a point in my insanity when i deeply believed you loved me. it was a test i had failed. the thing is i knew you didn't. but i had to believe. for me. it was great. great. it's an awful word. it's an ugly word. appearance wise. great. awful. it grates on your teeth like a first grade teacher who patronizes you with those little colorful stickers you are supposed to treasure and place on the inside cover of your notebook. everyone knows it was only the scented ones that mattered at all. but the non recieved their place and forced love as well. it's a joke. a trip. being a kid. pretending to be a kid when all you wanted to do was give the sticker to the giggly girl next to you and tell her that she clearly needed it more. unless it was something orginal, something creative. not words or facts memorized but i story released from your own heart and appreciated by another's ears. then a sticker was golden. only if from one respected. otherwise the preference would easily be a confused smile. that look like they couldn't tell just what to make of it. or you. that was worth a hundred stickers. a thousand. my entire childhood. you gave me that crooked smile. then you walked away. but there was pain there, with the accustomed thrill. maybe i had wanted you to. you know, read me between the lines. or maybe i just believed i did. it's just an illusion. it doesn't mean anything. just little pieces of adhesive paper, once in awhile they simply smelled better--but it made your world.
Monday, June 6, 2011
I love the word hysteria. It makes me picture a woman laughing--a laugh so powerful it begins in her heart but there can be barely contained or bared, so it erupts forth in insanity.
(Big thanks to our friends at Wikipedia)
Female hysteria was a once-common medical diagnosis, made exclusively in women, which is today no longer recognized by modern medical authorities as a medical disorder. Its diagnosis and treatment were routine for many hundreds of years in Western Europe. Hysteria was widely discussed in the medical literature of the nineteenth century. Women considered to be suffering from it exhibited a wide array of symptoms including faintness, nervousness, insomnia, fluid retention, heaviness in abdomen, muscle spasm, shortness of breath, irritability, loss of appetite for food or sex, and "a tendency to cause trouble".[1]
Since ancient times women considered to be suffering from hysteria would sometimes undergo "pelvic massage" — manual stimulation of the genitals by the doctor until the patient experienced "hysterical paroxysm" (orgasm).
(Big thanks to our friends at Wikipedia)
Sunday, May 15, 2011
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
We stood there, facing each other. It was raining harder now, and the big, fat drops were running down my face, and his too, as he loomed over me.
"Just say it." His voice was tight and his teeth were clenched and I could see the muscle in his jaw working.
"What?" I lifted my shoulders, cocked my elbows, raised my palms to the weeping sky. "What do you want me to say?" Trying hard for insouciance.
"You're sorry. Just say you're sorry."
"Sloan, it's too late for apologies-"
"Fuck you!" He slammed his fist into the brick wall next to my head. "Fuck apologies. I don't want apologies. I just want to hear it. I want to hear once that you are sorry, like you really mean it. No fucking excuses. No explanations. Just once, that you are as sorry as I am..." He was crying, I think. I was too. I sank back against the wet brick and covered my face with my hands, then slid down the wall, like a body shot through the heart.
"I'm sorry," I sobbed. "You don't know how sorry-"
And then suddenly he was all around me, gathering me up and crushing me against the wet brick, kissing the rain. And I realized I'd never been gathered up before, never been so broken apart or so recovered, and it was shocking, but before I could think about it, we were walking really fast through streets that flowed like a river, to arrive, dripping, at the stolid Peabody. Up the brass elevator, across the densely carpeted hall, to the door where I fumbled for the key (remembering the last time I stood at a door at the Peabody, fumbling for a key), but before I could think about it, the door swung open and Sloan backed me through, across the room, and onto the big, redeeming bed.
It wasn't easy. It wasn't like we made love and it was this enormous flood that washed away all our sins and insufficiencies, although from time to time that was how it felt. Rather, we had to negotiate a way through layers of nakedness and conjunction, stopping and starting, asking questions, filling in gaps and testing the waters. But we did it. Dove, then rose again to reach a plateau where we could rest, breathing deep and easy. Until another accusation surfaced. A doubt insisted on address. And so we would start again, and so we continued, off and on, all night, until morning.
My Year of Meats Ruth L. Ozeki
"Just say it." His voice was tight and his teeth were clenched and I could see the muscle in his jaw working.
"What?" I lifted my shoulders, cocked my elbows, raised my palms to the weeping sky. "What do you want me to say?" Trying hard for insouciance.
"You're sorry. Just say you're sorry."
"Sloan, it's too late for apologies-"
"Fuck you!" He slammed his fist into the brick wall next to my head. "Fuck apologies. I don't want apologies. I just want to hear it. I want to hear once that you are sorry, like you really mean it. No fucking excuses. No explanations. Just once, that you are as sorry as I am..." He was crying, I think. I was too. I sank back against the wet brick and covered my face with my hands, then slid down the wall, like a body shot through the heart.
"I'm sorry," I sobbed. "You don't know how sorry-"
And then suddenly he was all around me, gathering me up and crushing me against the wet brick, kissing the rain. And I realized I'd never been gathered up before, never been so broken apart or so recovered, and it was shocking, but before I could think about it, we were walking really fast through streets that flowed like a river, to arrive, dripping, at the stolid Peabody. Up the brass elevator, across the densely carpeted hall, to the door where I fumbled for the key (remembering the last time I stood at a door at the Peabody, fumbling for a key), but before I could think about it, the door swung open and Sloan backed me through, across the room, and onto the big, redeeming bed.
It wasn't easy. It wasn't like we made love and it was this enormous flood that washed away all our sins and insufficiencies, although from time to time that was how it felt. Rather, we had to negotiate a way through layers of nakedness and conjunction, stopping and starting, asking questions, filling in gaps and testing the waters. But we did it. Dove, then rose again to reach a plateau where we could rest, breathing deep and easy. Until another accusation surfaced. A doubt insisted on address. And so we would start again, and so we continued, off and on, all night, until morning.
My Year of Meats Ruth L. Ozeki
Friday, May 6, 2011
I miss your smile.
I miss your laugh.
I miss your eyes,
I miss your joy
But most I miss this little entity, it was everything that was you, that would drift around your entire being and when I was near fill in me.
I feel incomplete without it
severed into only half of me
bleeding outwardly
the longing hurts beyond everything
if continued the only me I ever knew would end
So this is goodbye, and for as long as I can keep it
this is goodbye forever
you won't understand
but just please let me go
please, entirely, let go
I miss your laugh.
I miss your eyes,
I miss your joy
But most I miss this little entity, it was everything that was you, that would drift around your entire being and when I was near fill in me.
I feel incomplete without it
severed into only half of me
bleeding outwardly
the longing hurts beyond everything
if continued the only me I ever knew would end
So this is goodbye, and for as long as I can keep it
this is goodbye forever
you won't understand
but just please let me go
please, entirely, let go
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Paul Varjak: I love you.
Holly Golightly: So what.
Paul Varjak: So what? So plenty! I love you, you belong to me!
Holly Golightly: [tearfully] No. People don't belong to people.
Paul Varjak: Of course they do!
Holly Golightly: I'll never let ANYBODY put me in a cage.
Paul Varjak: I don't want to put you in a cage, I want to love you!
Paul Varjak: You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You're chicken, you've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, "Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness." You call yourself a free spirit, a "wild thing," and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.
[takes out the ring and throws it in Holly's lap]
Paul Varjak: Here. I've been carrying this thing around for months. I don't want it anymore.
Holly Golightly: So what.
Paul Varjak: So what? So plenty! I love you, you belong to me!
Holly Golightly: [tearfully] No. People don't belong to people.
Paul Varjak: Of course they do!
Holly Golightly: I'll never let ANYBODY put me in a cage.
Paul Varjak: I don't want to put you in a cage, I want to love you!
Paul Varjak: You know what's wrong with you, Miss Whoever-you-are? You're chicken, you've got no guts. You're afraid to stick out your chin and say, "Okay, life's a fact, people do fall in love, people do belong to each other, because that's the only chance anybody's got for real happiness." You call yourself a free spirit, a "wild thing," and you're terrified somebody's gonna stick you in a cage. Well baby, you're already in that cage. You built it yourself. And it's not bounded in the west by Tulip, Texas, or in the east by Somali-land. It's wherever you go. Because no matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself.
[takes out the ring and throws it in Holly's lap]
Paul Varjak: Here. I've been carrying this thing around for months. I don't want it anymore.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Saturday, April 9, 2011
Tonight I ran at sundown, mid-run I stopped to walk awhile. The shoots of pink spreading down the sky. I thought to myself how beautiful life was, and a tear moved down my cheek. I saw an airplane glide into the wide expanse of sky that will be experienced for the first time and I felt, for a change, that I would not desire for all the world to be on it. I was exactly where I wanted to be.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Free Bird
If I leave here tomorrow
Would you still remember me?
For I must be travelling on, now,
'Cause there's too many places I've got to see.
But, if I stayed here with you, girl,
Things just couldn't be the same.
'Cause I'm as free as a bird now,
And this bird you can not change.
Lord knows, I can't change.
Bye, bye, its been a sweet love.
Though this feeling I can't change.
But please don't take it badly,
'Cause Lord knows I'm to blame.
But, if I stayed here with you girl,
Things just couldn't be the same.
Cause I'm as free as a bird now,
And this bird you'll never change.
And this bird you can not change.
Lord knows, I can't change.
Lord help me, I can't change.
Would you still remember me?
For I must be travelling on, now,
'Cause there's too many places I've got to see.
But, if I stayed here with you, girl,
Things just couldn't be the same.
'Cause I'm as free as a bird now,
And this bird you can not change.
Lord knows, I can't change.
Bye, bye, its been a sweet love.
Though this feeling I can't change.
But please don't take it badly,
'Cause Lord knows I'm to blame.
But, if I stayed here with you girl,
Things just couldn't be the same.
Cause I'm as free as a bird now,
And this bird you'll never change.
And this bird you can not change.
Lord knows, I can't change.
Lord help me, I can't change.
Wednesday, April 6, 2011
Dear Brian
I am sorry. I was wrong. I realized something tonight as I listened in irritation to a man who found it impossible to enunciate. Do I really want the world to all enunciate? The irritation in me eagerly declared "Dear God yes!" but do I? It's just one, rather large step, toward conformity. Why not let people just be? I have never desired for every person to be uniform, and yet here I was irritated by difference. If you love this girl, as much as you claim you do, I think you should tell her. But it doesn't make you wrong not to. You're giving her up because you truly believe her life will be better for it, and I insinuated it was cowardly. Your truly beautiful. I dearly hope, if I ever found myself in that position, I could be as honorable as you.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Inspiration for "Brian"
Harry: I've been doing a lot of thinking. And the thing is, I love you.
Sally: What?
Harry: I love you.
Sally: How do you expect me to respond to this?
Harry: How about you love me too?
Sally: How about I'm leaving.
Harry: Doesn't what I said mean anything to you?
Sally: I'm sorry Harry, I know it's New Years Eve, I know you're feeling lonely, but you just can't show up here, tell me you love me and expect thatto make everything alright. It doesn't work this way.
Harry: Well how does it work?
Sally: I don't know but not this way.
Harry: Well how about this way. I love that you get cold when it's seventyone degrees out, I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order asandwich, I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you'relooking at me like I'm nuts, I love that after I spend a day with you I canstill smell your perfume on my clothes and I love that you are the last personI want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'mlonely, and it's not because it's New Years Eve. I came here tonight becausewhen you realise you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, youwant the rest of the life to start as soon as possible.
Sally: You see, that is just like you Harry. You say things like that and youmake it impossible for me to hate you. And I hate you Harry... I really hateyou. I hate you.
Sally: What?
Harry: I love you.
Sally: How do you expect me to respond to this?
Harry: How about you love me too?
Sally: How about I'm leaving.
Harry: Doesn't what I said mean anything to you?
Sally: I'm sorry Harry, I know it's New Years Eve, I know you're feeling lonely, but you just can't show up here, tell me you love me and expect thatto make everything alright. It doesn't work this way.
Harry: Well how does it work?
Sally: I don't know but not this way.
Harry: Well how about this way. I love that you get cold when it's seventyone degrees out, I love that it takes you an hour and a half to order asandwich, I love that you get a little crinkle above your nose when you'relooking at me like I'm nuts, I love that after I spend a day with you I canstill smell your perfume on my clothes and I love that you are the last personI want to talk to before I go to sleep at night. And it's not because I'mlonely, and it's not because it's New Years Eve. I came here tonight becausewhen you realise you want to spend the rest of your life with somebody, youwant the rest of the life to start as soon as possible.
Sally: You see, that is just like you Harry. You say things like that and youmake it impossible for me to hate you. And I hate you Harry... I really hateyou. I hate you.
brian's story
Recently I heard a story that made my heart melt, and subsequently break. This isn't very eloquently put, but it's very late/early and I'm using this to avoid a paper, and try and relinquish my thoughts on it so I can focus.
My friend I haven't talked to in awhile, described a girl that he has liked for a year or so to me saying (these are my words not his, but the meaning is the same):
I can't even describe her. She's my dream girl (a term I mocked him endlessly for). She makes me feel... alive. Every time she enters the room, it's like I can feel it. I hear her laugh or her voice and my entire body responds. When we talk my heart feels light, and when she looks me in the eyes I can't remember a word I was saying. I even stammer sometimes, and when she laughs at it I melt. But she's just so cool too, she's the type of person that knows exactly what to say or do. We have so much in common, she loves hockey and shitty japanese films. I feel drawn to her, but it hurts to have her there because it feels so... hopeless. She's way out of my league; I'm not half the person that she is, but when I'm with her, she makes me feel as though I'm a better person than I even thought I was. And she loves people, truly. She's like no one I've ever met before.
This is written in a voice of mine recalling his, and I realize it may sound a little confused. My first attempt was to emulate his, trust me much worse. Honestly, though, even the more sentimental comments were really his own just differently phrased. After he left, naturally I felt very light-hearted and excited, giddy, similar feeling as every time I watch When Harry Met Sally. But I soon realized something that broke my heart. He is never going to tell her. There will be no finale scene on New Years, when he realizes that he wants to spend the rest of his life with her. He knows. Now. And nothing. What will be the actual outcome? He will likely meet some other girl. I'm sure she will be very nice. And that will be that. And most people would shrug, and move on. Because our concept of love isn't what our heart most ardently desires or yearns for. But what will come naturally, easily. We settle. It sounds cruel, and I'm sure that many are contentedly happy settling. Contentendly happy isn't comparable to lightening striking, just a great deal safer... "but eh? what are you gonna do?" My heart breaks.
My friend I haven't talked to in awhile, described a girl that he has liked for a year or so to me saying (these are my words not his, but the meaning is the same):
I can't even describe her. She's my dream girl (a term I mocked him endlessly for). She makes me feel... alive. Every time she enters the room, it's like I can feel it. I hear her laugh or her voice and my entire body responds. When we talk my heart feels light, and when she looks me in the eyes I can't remember a word I was saying. I even stammer sometimes, and when she laughs at it I melt. But she's just so cool too, she's the type of person that knows exactly what to say or do. We have so much in common, she loves hockey and shitty japanese films. I feel drawn to her, but it hurts to have her there because it feels so... hopeless. She's way out of my league; I'm not half the person that she is, but when I'm with her, she makes me feel as though I'm a better person than I even thought I was. And she loves people, truly. She's like no one I've ever met before.
This is written in a voice of mine recalling his, and I realize it may sound a little confused. My first attempt was to emulate his, trust me much worse. Honestly, though, even the more sentimental comments were really his own just differently phrased. After he left, naturally I felt very light-hearted and excited, giddy, similar feeling as every time I watch When Harry Met Sally. But I soon realized something that broke my heart. He is never going to tell her. There will be no finale scene on New Years, when he realizes that he wants to spend the rest of his life with her. He knows. Now. And nothing. What will be the actual outcome? He will likely meet some other girl. I'm sure she will be very nice. And that will be that. And most people would shrug, and move on. Because our concept of love isn't what our heart most ardently desires or yearns for. But what will come naturally, easily. We settle. It sounds cruel, and I'm sure that many are contentedly happy settling. Contentendly happy isn't comparable to lightening striking, just a great deal safer... "but eh? what are you gonna do?" My heart breaks.
protection
Her eyes slowly reopened and drew to him. He loved stronger than any she had ever known. She wanted to touch him. She needed to reach over, encourage his body to turn with the slightest tug, whether half-awake or entirely asleep his arms would unfailingly open and she would nestle inside. Her face would move instinctively to the nook between his neck and chin; she would deeply inhale him, as his arms would enclose tightly and protectively around her. She didn’t need him to understand her obscurity; she needed his innocence to pull her from them. Her arms drew tighter around her body, restraining her passions to allow him as long as an escape from the pain tonight promised as was in her power.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
the beautiful words of William Parish
Love is passion, obsession, someone you can't live without. I say, fall head over heels. Find someone you can love like crazy and who will love you the same way back. How do you find him? Well, you forget your head, and you listen to your heart. And I'm not hearing any heart. Cause the truth is, honey, there's no sense living your life without this. To make the journey and not fall deeply in love, well, you haven't lived a life at all. But you have to try, cause if you haven't tried, you haven't lived.
I thought I was going to sneak away tonight. What a glorious night. Every face I see is a memory. It may not be a perfectly perfect memory. Sometimes we had our ups and downs. But we're all together, and you're mine for a night. And I'm going to break precedent and tell you my one candle wish: that you would have a life as lucky as mine, where you can wake up one morning and say, "I don't want anything more." Sixty-five years. Don't they go by in a blink?
I loved Susan from the moment she was born, and I love her now and every minute in between. And what I dream of is a man who will discover her, and that she will discover a man who will love her, who is worthy of her, who is of this world, this time and has the grace, compassion, and fortitude to walk beside her as she makes her way through this beautiful thing called life.
-Meet Joe Black-
I thought I was going to sneak away tonight. What a glorious night. Every face I see is a memory. It may not be a perfectly perfect memory. Sometimes we had our ups and downs. But we're all together, and you're mine for a night. And I'm going to break precedent and tell you my one candle wish: that you would have a life as lucky as mine, where you can wake up one morning and say, "I don't want anything more." Sixty-five years. Don't they go by in a blink?
I loved Susan from the moment she was born, and I love her now and every minute in between. And what I dream of is a man who will discover her, and that she will discover a man who will love her, who is worthy of her, who is of this world, this time and has the grace, compassion, and fortitude to walk beside her as she makes her way through this beautiful thing called life.
-Meet Joe Black-
Scent of a Woman
Slade: But not a snitch.
Trask: Excuse me?
Slade: No, I don't think I will.
Trask: Mr. Slade.
Slade: This is such a crock of shit.
Trask: Please watch your language, Mr. Slade. You are in the Baird School not a barracks. Mr. Sims, I will give you one final opportunity to speak up.
Slade: Mr. Sims doesn't want it. He doesn't need to labeled: "Still worthy of being a 'Baird Man.'" What the hell is that? What is your motto here? "Boys, inform on your classmates, save your hide" -- anything short of that we're gonna burn you at the stake? Well, gentlemen, when the shit hits the fan some guys run and some guys stay. Here's Charlie facing the fire; and there's George hidin' in big Daddy's pocket. And what are you doin'? You're gonna reward George and destroy Charlie.
Trask: Are you finished, Mr. Slade?
Slade: No, I'm just gettin' warmed up. I don't know who went to this place, William Howard Taft, William Jennings Bryan, William Tell -- whoever. Their spirit is dead -- if they ever had one -- it's gone. You're building a rat ship here. A vessel for sea goin' snitches. And if you think your preparing these minnows for manhood you better think again. Because I say you are killing the very spirit this institution proclaims it instills! What a sham. What kind of a show are you guys puttin' on here today. I mean, the only class in this act is sittin' next to me. And I'm here to tell ya this boy's soul is intact. It's non-negotiable. You know how I know? Someone here -- and I'm not gonna say who -- offered to buy it. Only Charlie here wasn't sellin'.
Trask: Sir, you are out of order!
Slade: Outta order? I'll show you outta order! You don't know what outta order is, Mr. Trask! I'd show you but I'm too old; I'm too tired; I'm too fuckin' blind. If I were the man I was five years ago I'd take a FLAME-THROWER to this place! Outta order. Who the hell you think you're talkin' to? I've been around, you know? There was a time I could see. And I have seen boys like these, younger than these, their arms torn out, their legs ripped off. But there isn't nothin' like the sight of an amputated spirit; there is no prosthetic for that. You think you're merely sendin' this splendid foot-soldier back home to Oregon with his tail between his legs, but I say you are executin' his SOUL!! And why?! Because he's not a Baird man! Baird men, ya hurt this boy, you're going to be Baird Bums, the lot of ya. And Harry, Jimmy, Trent, wherever you are out there, FUCK YOU, too!
Mr. Trask: Stand down, Mr. Slade!
Slade: I'm not finished! As I came in here, I heard those words, "cradle of leadership." Well, when the bow breaks, the cradle will fall. And it has fallen here; it has fallen. Makers of men; creators of leaders; be careful what kind of leaders you're producin' here. I don't know if Charlie's silence here today is right or wrong.
I'm not a judge or jury. But I can tell you this: he won't sell anybody out to buy his future!! And that, my friends, is called integrity! That's called courage! Now that's the stuff leaders should be made of. Now I have come to the crossroads in my life. I always knew what the right path was. Without exception, I knew. But I never took it. You know why? It was too damn hard. Now here's Charlie. He's come to the crossroads. He has chosen a path. It's the right path. It's a path made of principle -- that leads to character. Let him continue on his journey.
You hold this boy's future in your hands, committee. It's a valuable future. Believe me. Don't destroy it! Protect it. Embrace it. It's gonna make ya proud one day -- I promise you.
Al Pacino
Trask: Excuse me?
Slade: No, I don't think I will.
Trask: Mr. Slade.
Slade: This is such a crock of shit.
Trask: Please watch your language, Mr. Slade. You are in the Baird School not a barracks. Mr. Sims, I will give you one final opportunity to speak up.
Slade: Mr. Sims doesn't want it. He doesn't need to labeled: "Still worthy of being a 'Baird Man.'" What the hell is that? What is your motto here? "Boys, inform on your classmates, save your hide" -- anything short of that we're gonna burn you at the stake? Well, gentlemen, when the shit hits the fan some guys run and some guys stay. Here's Charlie facing the fire; and there's George hidin' in big Daddy's pocket. And what are you doin'? You're gonna reward George and destroy Charlie.
Trask: Are you finished, Mr. Slade?
Slade: No, I'm just gettin' warmed up. I don't know who went to this place, William Howard Taft, William Jennings Bryan, William Tell -- whoever. Their spirit is dead -- if they ever had one -- it's gone. You're building a rat ship here. A vessel for sea goin' snitches. And if you think your preparing these minnows for manhood you better think again. Because I say you are killing the very spirit this institution proclaims it instills! What a sham. What kind of a show are you guys puttin' on here today. I mean, the only class in this act is sittin' next to me. And I'm here to tell ya this boy's soul is intact. It's non-negotiable. You know how I know? Someone here -- and I'm not gonna say who -- offered to buy it. Only Charlie here wasn't sellin'.
Trask: Sir, you are out of order!
Slade: Outta order? I'll show you outta order! You don't know what outta order is, Mr. Trask! I'd show you but I'm too old; I'm too tired; I'm too fuckin' blind. If I were the man I was five years ago I'd take a FLAME-THROWER to this place! Outta order. Who the hell you think you're talkin' to? I've been around, you know? There was a time I could see. And I have seen boys like these, younger than these, their arms torn out, their legs ripped off. But there isn't nothin' like the sight of an amputated spirit; there is no prosthetic for that. You think you're merely sendin' this splendid foot-soldier back home to Oregon with his tail between his legs, but I say you are executin' his SOUL!! And why?! Because he's not a Baird man! Baird men, ya hurt this boy, you're going to be Baird Bums, the lot of ya. And Harry, Jimmy, Trent, wherever you are out there, FUCK YOU, too!
Mr. Trask: Stand down, Mr. Slade!
Slade: I'm not finished! As I came in here, I heard those words, "cradle of leadership." Well, when the bow breaks, the cradle will fall. And it has fallen here; it has fallen. Makers of men; creators of leaders; be careful what kind of leaders you're producin' here. I don't know if Charlie's silence here today is right or wrong.
I'm not a judge or jury. But I can tell you this: he won't sell anybody out to buy his future!! And that, my friends, is called integrity! That's called courage! Now that's the stuff leaders should be made of. Now I have come to the crossroads in my life. I always knew what the right path was. Without exception, I knew. But I never took it. You know why? It was too damn hard. Now here's Charlie. He's come to the crossroads. He has chosen a path. It's the right path. It's a path made of principle -- that leads to character. Let him continue on his journey.
You hold this boy's future in your hands, committee. It's a valuable future. Believe me. Don't destroy it! Protect it. Embrace it. It's gonna make ya proud one day -- I promise you.
Al Pacino
Saturday, April 2, 2011
all one could ever desire
One lovely morning in April a small girl rests mid-run on a bench alongside the Mississippi. As the wood ducks and canadian geese court one another, she sheds her winter chill and embraces all of the world into her heart, falling madly in love with every inch of it.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Memories
Katie: I don't have the right style for you do I?
Hubble: No you don't have the right style.
Katie: I'll change.
Hubble: No, don't change. You're your own girl, you have your own style.
Katie: But then I won't have you. Why can't I have you?
Hubble: Because you push too hard, every damn minute. There's no time to ever relax and enjoy living. Everything is too serious to be so serious.
Katie: If I push too hard it's because I want things to be better, I want us to be better, I want you to be better. Sure I make waves you have I mean you have to. And I'll keep making them until you're everything you should be and will be. You'll never find anyone as good for you as I am, to believe in you as much as I do or to love you as much.
Hubble: I know that.
Katie: Well then why?
The Way We Were
If only I could
His arms enclose me I watch as the mesh caging rises to entrap me
Out of instinct I shrink away
They pull me in tighter I watch as the bars close securely at the top
My eyes begin to rove frantically
A cry of desperate anguish trapped behind my lips I lay motionless, imitation of death
Convinced to witness the look of sorrow deepen his eyes
The confusion, the pain
Would murder me more than the steel cage that binds me
He already feels the frantic eyes
The tense rigidity of my body
That he holds so closely, protectively to him
Raging storms of muted passions he can barely guess at
My burden alone
He tucks his head in at the nape of my neck
Meant to relax and insure me of his protective presence
this love, his love
I feel the hot breath
It moistens the back of my neck, clings there, a hot immovable dew
His arms feel oppressively heavy
I want to leap from them
Go to the window, the dark, the stars
Give myself to their enclosure alone
The dark deep night I close my eyes
Breathe deeply, then breathe again
Flitting through skies
No metal cages, no oppressive arms
Feel the wind as it braces me and covers me
Cool, and light
Perch upon the tip of a silver branch
Moonlight splashing across the ground
Glittering the world of newly lain dew
No metal cages, no oppressive arms
Freedom
I open my eyes
The walls, the arms, the bed
My cage
His love
My love I bury my face in my arm
And wait for unconsciousness to remove my confines
So that I may fly
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Little Women
From Friedrich to Jo:
Your heart understood mine. In the depth of that fragrant night, I listened with ravished soul to your beloved voice. Your heart understood mine.
Jo, there is so much more to you than this, if you have the courage to write it.
Your heart understood mine. In the depth of that fragrant night, I listened with ravished soul to your beloved voice. Your heart understood mine.
Jo, there is so much more to you than this, if you have the courage to write it.
Monday, March 21, 2011
Of her Frankenstein
I have an affection for it, for it was the offspring of happy days, when death and grief were but words which found no true echo in my heart. its several pages speak of many a walk, many a drive, and many a conversation when I was not alone; and my companion was one who, in this world, I shall never more see.
Mary Shelley
Mary Shelley
Monday, February 21, 2011
William Blake
On the day of his death, William Blake worked relentlessly on his Dante's series. Eventually he paused in his work and turned to his wife, who was in tears by his bedside. Beholding her, Blake is said to have cried, "Stay Kate! Keep just as you are- I will draw your portrait-for you have ever been an angel to me!"
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Hope
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune--without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.
-Emily Dickinson
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)