"Since I had started to break down all my writing and get rid of all facility and try to make instead of describe, writing had been wonderful to do. But it was very difficult, and I did not know how I would ever write anything as long as a novel. It often took me a full morning of work to write a paragraph."
(Source: allhehearisbirds, via awritersruminations)
I am getting on a plane to Europe tonight,
How did this happen so quickly!
Groping back to bed after a piss I part thick curtains, and am startled by The rapid clouds, the moon's cleanliness. Four o'clock: wedge-shadowed gardens lie Under a cavernous, a wind-picked sky. There's something laughable about this, The way the moon dashes through clouds that blow Loosely as cannon-smoke to stand apart (Stone-coloured light sharpening the roofs below) High and preposterous and separate - Lozenge of love! Medallion of art! O wolves of memory! Immensements! No, One shivers slightly, looking up there. The hardness and the brightness and the plain Far-reaching singleness of that wide stare Is a reminder of the strength and pain Of being young; that it can't come again, But is for others undiminished somewhere.
"I felt if I didn’t write nobody would accept me as a human being. Writing, then, was a substitute for myself: if you don’t love me, love my writing and love me for my writing."
(Source: awritersruminations)
We are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love. It is a happy chance if we, changing, continue to love a changed person.
-W. Somerset Maugham
His passion ached him. Whatever terror he saw to life,
whatever turbulence gave him inward hell, he was unable to answer it with Reason.
So he took to magic.
“it is one of the most noteworthy peculiarities of the human heart, that so much selfishness in individuals coexists with the general lack of envy which every present day feels toward it’s future.”
My heart can’t take all this. I’m pushing myself too hard.
This really is not my semester. I can’t wait to go home.
“The real damage is done by those millions who want to ‘survive.’ The honest men who just want to be left in peace. Those who don’t want their little lives disturbed by anything bigger than themselves. Those with no sides and no causes. Those who won’t take measure of their own strength, for fear of antagonizing their own weakness. Those who don’t like to make waves—or enemies. Those for whom freedom, honour, truth, and principles are only literature. Those who live small, mate small, die small. It’s the reductionist approach to life: if you keep it small, you’ll keep it under control. If you don’t make any noise, the bogeyman won’t find you. But it’s all an illusion, because they die too, those people who roll up their spirits into tiny little balls so as to be safe. Safe?! From what? Life is always on the edge of death; narrow streets lead to the same place as wide avenues, and a little candle burns itself out just like a flaming torch does.
I choose my own way to burn.”
So, school coupled with doing my own reading, moving away, and being around Alex has centered me. I love those moments where, in doing things you like, something simple occurs to you and suddenly you overcome the heavy that has weighed you down for so long. Now, the things that have felt so meaningless the passed few months have reclaimed their rightful position. It was getting to the point where I’d ignored my emotions and as a result every thing I would see and think became disconcerting.
Figure drawing, playing piano, conversing with people I learn from, eating healthy, cooking and traveling—- alll while being attuned to my self—— is where I’m at now. No more feeling trapped in an identity-less 18-year-old-girl body. No more feeling trapped.
I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in life. And I am horribly limited.
Shadows and Fog
the gray head of compromise
an ink-stained wretch
nothing is real, all exists within the dream of a dog
don’t let love get in the way of work///everybody loves his illusions/// they love them, they need them like they need the air
Booking my flight right now.
May 14th: Miami to Madrid to Florence
July 20th: Vienna to Madrid to Miami
