Posts tagged quoted
i’ve been struggling with a triple dose of severely limited attention span + blogger’s block + work life imbalance since mid december, but i wanted to tell you that i miss you so much it aches, i think about blogging (and the act of not blogging) everyday, and i finally figured out this year’s three word thesis:
go through it.
“in the 2000s, there will be only answers. the demand will be such that there will only be answers. all texts will be answers, in fact. i believe that man will be literally drowned in information, in constant information. about his body, his corporeal future, his health, his family life, his salary, his leisure. it’s not far from a nightmare. there will be nobody reading anymore.”
in 1985, marguerite duras gave her predictions for the future to the french publication les inrocks and the translation is as prophetic as it is poetic. i haven’t finished a book in years.
go outside of yourself.
look at yourself walking down the street.
make yourself tumble on a stone and fall.
watch other people looking.
observe carefully how you fall.
how long it takes and in what rhythm you fall.
observe as seeing a slow motion film.
ps – the quotes above were generated by what-would-i-say.com. if you have to come into work tomorrow and need a delightful time suck to get you through the [inevitably quiet and totally ghost town-y] day, i highly recommend a gander over there. spot on stuff.
here you will be free
to stretch yourself to your limit,
to find the beach that is yours alone.
but sooner or later
you will be sitting on that beach
wondering what comes next.
dug through my feedly today and was kindly awarded with some slow, magical good vibes from the above two pics and a nice midday zing! from bobby mckenna’s awards page. all in all, a monday well spent in my corner of the internet.
guess this means i’ll be some sort of french bulldog instagram account aficionado / recluse … brb gettin’ vvv excited about my srsly promising future. oh, wassup dog ppl?
i’m a bug
is my breakfast
along with tea yeah
i’m a bug
i got a stinger
so do you, baby
let’s wing it.
interviewer: do you ever get bored?
werner herzog: no, never. the word is not even in my vocabulary. i seem to scare and astonish my wife by being capable of standing staring out of the window for days at a time, even when there is nothing happening out there. i may look catatonic, but not so inside. there might be storms raging inside. i think it was wittgenstein who talked about being inside a house and seeing a figure outside strangely flailing about. from inside you cannot see what storms are raging out there, so you find the figure funny.
some people make us feel more human and some people make us feel less human and that is a fact as much as gravity is a fact and maybe there are ways to prove it, but the proof of it matters less that the existence of it—how a stranger can show up and look at you and make you make more sense to yourself and the world, even if that sense is extremely fragile and only comes around occasionally and is prone to wander or fade—what matters is that sometimes sense is made between two people and i don’t know if it’s random or there is any kind of order to it, what combinations of people work the best and why and how do we find these people and how do we keep these people around, and i don’t know if it’s chaos or not chaos but it feels like chaos to me so i suppose it is.
miserable, darling, as usual.
hello, pre-holiday short week.
bracing myself for the vvv busy.
hoping some answers will follow.
drinking coffee at mcdonald’s
out of a paper cup
is almost more victory than we can
nov. 15, 1971: “it’s that time of year, when ethnic society, homesick for its native accents, gets together to whoop it up,” reported the times … “pepe, as he is called, not only produced a sumptuous buffet, but he also emerged as a superb flamenco dancer. at 2 o’clock in the morning, after having served a breakfast of churros (ropes of cruller-like fried dough) and hot chocolate, pepe danced to the guitars and mandolins, losing his white chef’s toque as he whirled.
may we all lose a toque as we whirl.
“more and more i really believe that doing our best isn’t about loving unconditionally but about just saying something truthful. and letting the other person have the rare advantage of knowing what we’re feeling uncloaked, even if it doesn’t make sense, even if the feelings are confused, even if there are conditions. because making things seem uncomplex, making love seem easy and unconditional is just another deception we sweet-talk ourselves into, with all the should-ing that never lasts.
so there i was on the subway, picking feverish fights in my head with some stranger’s self-help book. and feeling like we’re all missing a better point here. a point not about love or conditions but about something simpler. about trying to be good and kind and patient with each other and knowing that there are always conditions, that we’ve all got our knots and bends in our brains, and holes in our hearts.”
these two paragraphs,
especially that last part
on being kind, having knots.
that’s where i’m keeping things.
for a while.
there’s only one rule
that i know of, babies –
“god damn it,
you’ve got to be kind.”
ps – did you get your tickets? to the cloud show?
would be a choice twitter bio.
u feel, moody ghost?
how i think about you,
how i hope you think about me.
sometimes i can’t crack my own code.
bliss was it in that dawn to be alive,
but to be young was very heaven.
let me give you some advice:
try to approach things
without preconceived ideas,
without supposing you already know
everything there is to know about them.
get that trick down and you’ll be surprised
at what’s really all around you.
your iphone pocket-called me the other day.
you were walking.
i could hear your legs moving.
i was in your pants, after all, with the phone.
swip swip. swip swip. swip swip.
very rhythmic. soothing.
i listened in for a while.
i was hoping for a scrap of inappropriate conversation.
i like to overhear things that hurt me.
i got nothing.
you were just going somewhere.
we are all frazzled and unruly, you and me. we are desperate and wistful and restless and funny and frayed at the edges. we can worry that we’re doing it all wrong, we can long for central air or true love or a view of the ocean, and that’s just part of the fucking clown show. we can be ingrates and role models, we can be flinchy and heroic, we can be courageous and also melancholy. there is nothing wrong with feeling unsafe and uncertain. there is nothing wrong with addled, misguided parenting, or self-involved rambling. i give you permission, my friend, to continue on this twisted, sweet path of suffering and satisfaction and distraction. i give you my blessing, my partner in failing at everything. i am witness to your grace and your faltering. i give you my undying love, as you struggle and stutter and the sun falls from the sky.
when the earth stops spinning, we will panic. there is no avoiding it. we’ll be crying and shaking, just like that woman at the side of the road, wondering if we did it the right way. we’ll wonder if we failed ourselves, or failed each other, if we were a big disappointment, in the end.
please remember, we were not a disappointment. not at all, not even close. we were gorgeous and strong, you and me. we were terrible and troubled and utterly divine.