3
" Yesterday it was sun outside. The sky was blue and people were lying under blooming cherry trees in the park. It was Friday, so records were released, that people have been working on for years. Friends around me find success and level up, do fancy photo shoots and get featured on big, white, movie screens. There were parties and lovers, hand in hand, laughing perfectly loud,
but I walked numbly through the park, round and round,
40 times for 4 hours
just wanting to make it through the day.
There's a weight that inhabits my chest some times. Like a lock in my throat, making it hard to breathe. A little less air got through
and the sky was so blue I couldn’t look at it because it made me sad, swelling tears in my eyes and they dripped quietly on the floor as I got on with my day. I tried to keep my focus, ticked off the to-do list, did my chores. Packed orders, wrote emails, paid bills and rewrote stories,
but the panic kept growing, exploding in my chest. Tears falling on the desk
tick tick tick
me not making a sound
and some days I just don't know what to do. Where to go or who to see and I try to be gentle, soft and kind,
but anxiety eats you up and I just want to be fine.
This is not beautiful. This is not useful. You can not do anything with it and it tries to control you, throw you off your balance and lovely ways
but you can not let it.
I cleaned up. Took myself for a walk. Tried to keep my eyes on the sky. Stayed away from the alcohol, stayed away from the destructive tools we learn to use.
the smoking and the starving, the running, the madness,
thinking it will help but it only feeds the fire
and I don't want to hurt myself anymore.
I made it through and today I woke up, lighter and proud because I'm still here. There are flowers growing outside my window. The coffee is warm, the air is pure. In a few hours I'll be on a train on my way to sing for people who invited me to come, to sing, for them. My own songs, that I created. Me—little me. From nowhere at all.
And I have people around that I like and can laugh with, and it's spring again.
It will always be spring again.
And there will always be a new day. "
― Charlotte Eriksson
8
" Human tool-makers always make tools that will help us get what we want, and what we want hasn't changed for thousands of years because as far as we can tell the human template hasn't changed either. We still want the purse that will always be filled with gold, and the Fountain of Youth. We want the table that will cover itself with delicious food whenever we say the word, and that will be cleaned up afterwards by invisible servants. We want the Seven-League Boots so we can travel very quickly, and the Hat of Darkness so we can snoop on other people without being seen. We want the weapon that will never miss, and the castle that will keep us safe. We want excitement and adventure; we want routine and security. We want to have a large number of sexually attractive partners, and we also want those we love to love us in return, and be utterly faithful to us. We want cute, smart children who will treat us with the respect we deserve. We want to be surrounded by music, and by ravishing scents and attractive visual objects. We don't want to be too hot or too cold. We want to dance. We want to speak with the animals. We want to be envied. We want to be immortal. We want to be gods.
But in addition, we want wisdom and justice. We want hope. We want to be good. "
― Margaret Atwood , In Other Worlds: SF and the Human Imagination
14
" Evolution endowed us with intuition only for those aspects of physics that had survival value for our distant ancestors, such as the parabolic orbits of flying rocks (explaining our penchant for baseball). A cavewoman thinking too hard about what matter is ultimately made of might fail to notice the tiger sneaking up behind and get cleaned right out of the gene pool. Darwin’s theory thus makes the testable prediction that whenever we use technology to glimpse reality beyond the human scale, our evolved intuition should break down. We’ve repeatedly tested this prediction, and the results overwhelmingly support Darwin. At high speeds, Einstein realized that time slows down, and curmudgeons on the Swedish Nobel committee found this so weird that they refused to give him the Nobel Prize for his relativity theory. At low temperatures, liquid helium can flow upward. At high temperatures, colliding particles change identity; to me, an electron colliding with a positron and turning into a Z-boson feels about as intuitive as two colliding cars turning into a cruise ship. On microscopic scales, particles schizophrenically appear in two places at once, leading to the quantum conundrums mentioned above. On astronomically large scales… weirdness strikes again: if you intuitively understand all aspects of black holes [then you] should immediately put down this book and publish your findings before someone scoops you on the Nobel Prize for quantum gravity… [also,] the leading theory for what happened [in the early universe] suggests that space isn’t merely really really big, but actually infinite, containing infinitely many exact copies of you, and even more near-copies living out every possible variant of your life in two different types of parallel universes. "
― Max Tegmark , Our Mathematical Universe: My Quest for the Ultimate Nature of Reality
17
" My death..I mean..will it be quick,and with dignity? How will i know when the end is coming?" " When you vomit blood,sir," Tao Chi'en said sadly.That happened three weeks later,in the middle of Pacific,in the privacy of the captain's cabin. As soon as he could stand , the old seaman cleaned up the traces of his vomit, rinsed out his mouth , changed his bloody shirt, lighted his pipe, and went to the bow of his ship , where he stood and looked for the last time at the stars winking in a sky of black velvet. Several sailors saw him and waited at a distance, caps in hands. When he had smoked the last of his tobacco, Captain John Sommers put his legs over the rail and noiselessly dropped into the sea.-Portrait in Sepia by Isabel Allende. "
19
" Katarina wasn’t afraid of Baden. Not anymore.
He took a step to the side, intending to move around her. Oh, no. She flattened her hands on his shoulders, keeping him in place.
“I want to know what’s wrong with you.” She said. “Tell me.”
He snapped his teeth at her in a show of dominance. “You think you want to know my problem. You’re wrong.”
Her tone dry, she said, “I’m so glad you know my mind better than I do.”
“Very well. I need sex.” He threw the words at her as if they were weapons. “Badly.”
Whoa. Blindside!
Heart pounding, she jerked her hands away from him. “Sex...from me?”
“Yesss.” A hiss. “Only from you.”
Only. Amazing how one little word could send pleasure soaring through her, warming her. “You told me never to touch you.” Which she’d just done, she realized. My bad.
“I’ve changed my mind.” His gaze dropped, lingered on her lips.
Burning her... “But you and I...we’re a different species.” As if that mattered to her body. Gimme!
He took a step closer, invading her personal space. “We’ll fit, I promise you.”
Tristo hrmenych! The raspy quality of his voice, all smoke and gravel...she shivered with longing. Must resist his allure.
But...but...why? Before she’d committed to Peter, she’d dated around, had made out in movie theaters, cars and on couches. She’d liked kissing and touching and “riding the belt buckle,” as her friends had called it. Then, after committing to Peter, she’d gifted him with her virginity. At first, he hadn’t known what to do with her—he’d been just as inexperienced—and she’d left each encounter disappointed. When finally she’d gathered the courage to tell him what she wanted, he’d satisfied her well.
She missed sex. But connection...intimacy...she thought she missed those more.
The dogs barked, jolting her from her thoughts. They’d cleaned their food bowls, and now wanted to play. She clasped Baden’s hand to lead him out of the kennel. He jerked away, severing contact.
One action. Tons of hurt.
“I’m allowed to touch you and you want to have sex with me, but you’re still disgusted by me.” She stomped outside the kennel, done with him. “Well, I’m leaving. Good riddance! Your do-what-I-say-or-else attitude was annoying, anyway.”
He darted in front of her, stopping her. Breath caught in her throat as sunlight streamed over him, paying his chiseled features absolute tribute, making his bronzed skin glimmer.
So beautiful. Too beautiful.
“I’m not disgusted by you. You need me. I’ve come to accept it,” he admitted, looking away from her. “But being skin-to-skin with another is painful for me. We’ll have to proceed carefully. And you’ll get over your annoyance.”
Another order! She would show him the error of his ways. "
― Gena Showalter , The Darkest Torment (Lords of the Underworld, #12)
20
" Falon stared at Del intently, trying to figure out what was different. As usual, Del was impeccably dressed in a lavender dress that revealed her curves. Her nail polish and shoes matched her clothing perfectly. Del’s shoulder-length blond hair looked the same. “Smile at me,” Falon said suddenly, and Del showed her teeth. “You got Botox again.” “Yeah, my dentist does it at his office now. I can get my teeth cleaned and my lines erased at the same time. If I could get him to do collagen injections, I’d be set. I wish these doctors would work together. If my gynecologist worked in the same office as my dentist, I’d look like a race car in the pit. I’d get it all done in one appointment and be back on the road in no time.” Del glanced at her watch. “That reminds me, I’m going to see a plastic surgeon for a consultation tomorrow, so I’ll be late getting here in the morning.” “Would you leave your face alone? Del, you look fine.” “It’s not my face, I’m thinking about having my vagina reshaped. The other day when I was being lasered, I was staring at it in the big mirror. You can really see all your girl junk in it, but it’s kind of magnified, so I wasn’t really sure if things were as out of proportion as they seemed. When I got home, I looked at it with a hand mirror, and it still doesn’t look right to me.” Del stood and began pulling up her dress. “You’ve seen a shitload of vaginas, so I want you to tell me—” “Don’t you dare whip that out in here!” Falon covered her eyes with her hand. “I’m not looking at it, Del. I’m not!” “Come on, really?” Del looked completely taken aback. “You looked at my boobs.” “That’s because you turned them loose before I realized what you were doing.” Falon waved her hand. “Your lady junk is far more personal than boobs.” “How so?” “Cleavage,” Falon blurted out. “You wear shirts that show cleavage, that’s like a little preview. Your lady junk is a total mystery, and I want it to stay that way... "
― Robin Alexander , Fearless
