5
" It’s strange how what drives us may abandon us midstream, how what tickles our ears with lies one moment may tell us truths that knock us on our emotional ass the next.
After all, it is an unbelievably real world, with Darwin scribbling his thoughts into books and telling us what monkeys we are. Each of us explores possibility, hungry for sustaining adoration, yet we know enough to render ourselves helpless.
We strive and strain, bellow and believe, we learn, and everything we learn tells us the same thing: life is one great meaningful experience in a meaningless world. Brilliance has many parts, yet each part is incomplete.
We live, heal and attempt to piece together a picture worth the price of our very lives.
The picture I saw presented demonic executioners, who crippled those daring to look and consumed souls without defense. They’re everywhere. Some are people we know. Others are the great fears and addictions of our lives. "
― Christopher Hawke
7
" I hate you. I wish you was dead." Mrs. Carey gasped. He said the words so savagely that it gave her quite a start. She had nothing to say. She sat down in her husband's chair; and as she thought of her desire to love the friendless, crippled boy and her eager wish that he should love her--she was a barren woman and, even though it was clearly God's will that she should be childless, she could scarcely bear to look at little children sometimes, her heart ached so--the tears rose to her eyes and one by one, slowly, rolled down her cheeks. Philip watched her in amazement. She took out her handkerchief, and now she cried without restraint. Suddenly Philip realised that she was crying because of what he had said, and he was sorry. He went up to her silently and kissed her. It was the first kiss he had ever given herwithout being asked. And the poor lady, so small in her black satin, shrivelled up and sallow, with her funny corkscrew curls, took the little boy on her lap and put her arms around him and wept as though her heart would break. But her tears were partly tears of happiness, for she felt that the strangeness between them was gone. She loved him now with a new love because he had made her suffer. "
12
" The Old FoolsWhat do they think has happened, the old fools,To make them like this ? Do they somehow supposeIt's more grown-up when your mouth hangs open and droolsAnd you keep on pissing yourself, and can't rememberWho called this morning ? Or that, if they only chose,They could alter things back to when they danced all night,Or went to their wedding, or sloped arms some September ?Or do they fancy there's really been no change, And they've always behaved as if they were crippled or tight,Or sat through days of thin continuous dreamingWatching light move ? If they don't (and they can't), it's strange:Why aren't they screaming ?At death, you break up: the bits that were youStart speeding away from each other for everWith no one to see. It's only oblivion, true: We had it before, but then it was going to end,And was all the time merging with a unique endeavourTo bring to bloom the million-petalled flowerOf being here. Next time you can't pretendThere'll be anything else. And these are the first signs:Not knowing how, not hearing who, the powerOf choosing gone. Their looks show that they're for it:Ash hair, toad hands, prune face dried into lines-How can they ignore it ?Perhaps being old is having lighted roomsInside your head, and people in them, acting.People you know, yet can't quite name; each loomsLike a deep loss restored, from known doors turning, Setting down a Iamp, smiling from a stair, extractingA known book from the shelves; or sometimes onlyThe rooms themselves, chairs and a fire burning,The blown bush at the window, or the sun' sFaint friendliness on the wall some lonelyRain-ceased midsummer evening. That is where they live:Not here and now, but where all happened once.This is why they giveAn air of baffled absence, trying to be thereYet being here. For the rooms grow farther, leavingIncompetent cold, the constant wear and tearOf taken breath, and them crouching belowExtinction' s alp, the old fools, never perceivingHow near it is. This must be what keeps them quiet.The peak that stays in view wherever we goFor them is rising ground. Can they never tellWhat is dragging them back, and how it will end ? Not at night?Not when the strangers come ? Never, throughoutThe whole hideous inverted childhood? Well,We shall find out. "
13
" What do they think has happened, the old fools,
To make them like this? Do they somehow suppose
It's more grown-up when your mouth hangs open and drools,
And you keep on pissing yourself, and can't remember
Who called this morning? Or that, if they only chose,
They could alter things back to when they danced all night,
Or went to their wedding, or sloped arms some September?
Or do they fancy there's really been no change,
And they've always behaved as if they were crippled or tight,
Or sat through days of thin continuous dreaming
Watching the light move? If they don't (and they can't), it's strange;
Why aren't they screaming? "
― Philip Larkin , The Complete Poems
14
" Poetry is the wailing of a broken heart―the etched sorrows of despairing souls. These artful words are an exclamation in rare colors expressed noiselessly on parchment.
Poetry is the unheard cry of a flower, wilting. It is a humble, lucent tear shed with meaning. It is the lovely portrayal of ugliness and the bitter edge of sweet.
Poetry speaks to the spirit by piercing understanding. It interprets all senseless truths―beauty, love, emotion―into sensible scrawl.
Poetry is vague affirmation and bewildering clarification. Like the most poignant of emotions, we understand the essence but cannot adequately do it verbal justice, crippled by inherently weak tongues.
A spiritual soothsayer, poetry is the closest thing to expression of feelings unutterable. "
― Richelle E. Goodrich , Making Wishes: Quotes, Thoughts, & a Little Poetry for Every Day of the Year
16
" WHAT 28 FEELS LIKEEvery year of your 20s is subject to a very specific set of emotions, at least that’s what I think. 21 is great for obvious, surface-level reasons. 22 is a train wreck if you graduated in four years, and are then thrust into real life. 25 is when pretty much everything changes – from your priorities to your body. And, then, there’s 28. I don’t know what it is about this age in particular, but I’ve deemed it “The Crisis Year” and here’s why.1. The realization that you’re now officially in your “late 20s” is enough to send you straight into the climax of a full-blown panic attack. You don’t even get to start at the beginning of the said attack, no. You wake up on your 28th birthday, screaming and dry heaving. It’s an instinctual reaction to knowing that, for the next 365 days of your life, you will be teetering on the fine line between actual adulthood and clutching on desperately to your youth.2. Because you’re now in your late 20s, your parents start to treat you more like an GULP adult. Even if you’ve been paying your own way since forever, maybe you both secretly knew deep down that, in case of a huge emergency, asking them for help wasn’t off-limits. But, when 28 hits, it’s no longer an option.3. You just feel old(er). There’s something about the curvy lines of the number “8” that cast a darker and much more serious shadow over things. You’ll still go out to popular nightlife establishments, but you will be internally ashamed about your age the entire time you’re there. And the horror if someone is to ask you how old you are! Being 26 in a nightclub is vastly different. Probably because you’re still in your mid-20s and because the shape of the number “6” is naturally fun and loopy, so it makes you feel safe.4. Everyone you know is getting engaged.5. Everyone you know is getting married.6. Almost everyone you know who is married, is pregnant.7. Let’s face it – after graduation, no one’s never not getting married. Before your eyes, your Facebook feed turns into an endless stream of engagement announcements. And, unless you decide to cast yourself out of society, this parade of seemingly happy couples moving forward together won’t slow down until probably age 30. But there’s something about the specific age of 28 that lends itself to just being drowned in marriage announcements no matter where you turn. It’s either couples who have been together for 6+ years finally taking the plunge, or “real world” couples who met a few years ago and got super serious, super fast. Either way, it’s a single 28-year-old’s worst nightmare.8. Being tw0 years away from 30 is a bleak reality to face. Four years is like no big deal, because that’s an entire university experience. But two? Two will soon be one, and then you’re 30. 20somethings are delusional in many ways, but one of the biggest is how we think, by 30, our entire lives should be figured out. Married, babies, dream job, bla bla bla – all by 30. It’s a subtle attitude we all have that wants to scream, “30 OR BUST!” But, the closer you inch toward that milestone birthday, the more you realize what a total crock of shit all that is. And how you couldn’t be further away from having it all figured out if you tried.9. Going back to one of the first points I made, being 28 is like being a brand new, beginner’s level gymnast, perilously seesawing between “real” adulthood and (what feel like) the last crumbs of your true youth. Half of you feels an enormous pressure to fully grow-up, while the other half of you is crippled by the notion of doing so. On one hand, you are sort of ready to get serious about love, career, and overall responsibility. On the other hand, you just want to continue making out at random, dating idiots, and generally freaking the fuck out over the future. Every day you wake up, there’s no telling which of these two ideals your mood is going t "
20
" I said, 'I have heard people talk about war as if it was a very fine thing.'
Ah!' said [Captain], 'I should think they never saw it. No doubt it is very fine when there is no enemy, when it is just exercise and parade, and sham-fight. Yes, it is very fine then; but when thousands of good brave men and horses are killed, or crippled for life, it has a very different look.'
Do you know what they fought about?' said I.
No,' he said, 'that is more than a horse can understand, but the enemy must have been awfully wicked people, if it was right to go all that way over the sea on purpose to kill them. "
― Anna Sewell , Black Beauty
