Archives for posts with tag: Words

bq_leftImagine this. You’re a farmer, living all alone on the Siberian tundra. Day after day you plow your fields. As far as the eye can see, nothing. To the north, the horizon, to the east, the horizon, to the south, to the west, more of the same. Every morning, when the sun rises in the east, you go out to work in your fields. When it’s directly overhead, you take a break for lunch. When it sinks in the west, you go home to sleep.

And then one day, something inside you dies. Day after day you watch the sun rise in the east, pass across the sky, then sink in the west, and something breaks inside you and dies. You toss your plow aside and, your head completely empty of thought, begin walking toward the west. Heading toward a land that lies west of the sun. Like someone possessed, you walk on, day after day, not eating or drinking, until you collapse on the ground and die. That’s hysteria siberiana.bq_right

—Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun

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Have patience with everything that remains unsolved in your heart. Try to love the questions themselves, like locked rooms and like books written in a foreign language. Do not now look for the answers. They cannot now be given to you because you could not live them. It is a question of experiencing everything. At present you need to live the question. Perhaps you will gradually, without even noticing it, find yourself experiencing the answer, some distant day.
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- Rainer Maria Rilke, 1875-1926

bq_leftI returned to the harbor, dejected and bewildered. No sooner had I seen my ship than I beheld what the struggles and hopes of my journeys had kept from my notice. I cried out.

The waves of the sea had washed the paint from the sides of my ship, leaving naught but bleached bones.

The winds and the gales and the heat of the sun had erased the figures from the sails, leaving them like worn and ash-colored clothes.

I had gathered the curiosities and treasures of the earth into an ark floating upon the face of the waters. I had returned to my people, but they spurned me because their eyes beheld only the external.

In that hour I abandoned the ship of my thought and went to the city of the dead. I sat among the whitewashed tombs, thinking of their secrets.bq_right

—pp 63, The Storm: Stories and Prose Poems, Khalil Gibran

bq_leftThe human heart has hidden treasures, in secret kept, in silence sealed the thoughts, the hopes, the dreams, the pleasures, whose charms were broken if revealed.bq_right

Definitely, Maybe (2008)

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Because I simply refuse to accept the period…

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… or the hyphen as substitutes.

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Because I love diversity.

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A love letter, from her to him:

bq_leftMy beloved lord, don’t be afraid, don’t move, be silent, no one will see us.

Stay like that, I want to look at you, I looked at you so much but you weren’t for me, now you are mine, don’t come near me, please, stay as you are, we have one night for us, and I want to look at you, I’ve never seen you like that, your body mine, your skin, close your eyes, and caress yourself, please

don’t open your eyes if you can, and caress yourself, your hands are beautiful, I’ve dreamed of them so many times now I want to see them, I like seeing them on your skin, like that, please go on, don’t open your eyes, I’m here, no one can see us and I am near you, caress yourself my beloved lord, caress your sex, please, gently, your hand on your sex is beautiful, don’t stop, I like watching it and watching you, my beloved lord, don’t open your eyes, not yet, you mustn’t be afraid, I’m near you, do you hear me? I’m here, I can touch you, this is silk, do you feel it? It’s the silk of my robe, don’t open your eyes and you will have my skin, you will have my lips, when I touch you for the first time it will be with my lips, you won’t know where, at some point you will feel the warmth of my lips, on you, you can’t know where if you don’t open your eyes, don’t open them, somewhere you’ll feel my mouth, suddenly,

maybe it will be your eyes, I will rest my mouth on your eyelids and eyebrows, you will feel the warmth go into your head, and my lips on your eyes, inside, or maybe it will be your ex, I’ll place my lips there, and, opening them, descend, little by little, I will let your sex half close my mouth, entering between my lips, pressing my tongue, and my saliva will run along your skin to your hand, my kiss and your hand, one inside the other, on your sex, until finally I will kiss your heart, because I want you, I will bite the skin that beats over your heart, because I want you, and with your heart in my mouth you’ll be mine, truly, with my mouth in your heart you’ll be mine, forever, if you don’t believe me, open your eyes my beloved lord and look at me, it’s me, who can ever cancel out this moment that’s happening, and this my body now without silk, your hands touching it, your eyes looking at it,

your fingers in my sex, your tongue on my lips, you who slide under me, hold my hips, pick me up, let me slide over your sex, slowly, who can destroy this, you inside me moving slowly, your hands on my face, your fingers in my mouth, the pleasure in your eyes, your voice, you move slowly but until you hurt me, my pleasure, my voice,

my body on yours, your back that raises me up, your arms that won’t let me go, the thrusting inside me, it’s a sweet violence, I see your eyes searching mine, they want to know how far to hurt me, as far as you want, my beloved, there is no end, it will not end, do you see? No one will be able to destroy this moment that is happening, forever you will throw your head back, crying, forever I will close my eyes wiping the tears from my brow, my voice in yours, your violence holding me tight, there is no longer time to flee or force to resist, it was to be this moment, and is this moment, believe me, my beloved, will be this moment, from now on, will be until the end,

We will not see each other anymore, my lord.

What there was for us we have done, and you know it. Believe me: We have done it forever. Keep your life safe from me. And don’t hesitate for a moment, if it is useful for your happiness, to forget this woman who now, without regret, says farewell.bq_right

Silk, Alessandro Baricco

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70 out of more than 140 stories written in the span of 50 years.

bq_leftThough known by English readers for his brilliant novelistic work, Yasunari Kawabata believed that the essence of his art was expressed in a series of short stories written over the entire span of his career. Despite their brevity, these stories contain most of the elements of Kawabata’s longer work. Just as a haiku may contain a richness rivaling that of a longer poem, so these stories, in the plenitude of their content, the complexity of their psychology, and the sharpness of their observation of human life, rival longer prose fictions. Kawabata said of them, “Many writers, in their youth, write poetry: I, instead of poetry, wrote the palm-of-the-hand stories. Among them are unreasonably fabricated pieces, but there are more than a few good ones that flowed from my pen naturally, of their own accord. . . .[T]he poetic spirit of my young days lives on in them.”bq_right

bq_leftHis bitterness was the mystery of my childhood, turning me stubborn and defiant. Like most sons of unhappy fathers, I had a hole inside me cut to the shape of his sadness, a hole I tried to fill in all the usual ways and never did, because happiness would be too much of a betrayal. My miseries were a tribute to his own, a fucked-up gesture of fucked-up solidarity.bq_right

I froze in my tracks when those words were read to me, and my heart wept, because I had finally found the words for the shadow over my heart that I could never outrun.

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