Showing posts tagged naranzarian
You cannot find peace by avoiding life.

— Virginia Woolf

  • 8 months ago
  • 12281
When you feel perpetually unmotivated, you start questioning your existence in an unhealthy way; everything becomes a pseudo intellectual question you have no interest in responding whatsoever. This whole process becomes your very skin and it does not merely affect you; it actually defines you. So, you see yourself as a shadowy figure unworthy of developing interest, unworthy of wondering about the world - profoundly unworthy in every sense and deeply absent in your very presence.

— Ingmar Bergman

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  • 1 year ago
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I cannot talk to you right now.

I can’t part my lips
and spill conversations out:
the sentences grow barbs,
my mouth doesn’t work,
my tongue seizes up,
and the words catch.
I am choking on them
and I can’t spit them out.

The only way I can speak
to you is in code.

I have to tell you
that I am growing moth wings,
that the deep blue Atlantic
is writhing under my ribs,
that the butterflies in my stomach
are trying to bite their way out
and I am swallowing bottlefuls
of hornets to sting them quiet.

That I have stopped being a man
and have started being a pillar of salt
trying to learn how to rain dance.

That I am eating smoke.

I am trying to tell you something
but I think the cipher is written
on the marrow of my bones
and I don’t want to know
what you’ll need to do
to crack me.

— "Cryptography, Gabriel Gadfly

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  • 1 year ago
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  • 1 year ago
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There was a point in our lives

where if I slit my throat, it was you who would bleed.

You say goodbye too often in autumn.
Tonight the last leaf fell off the tree beyond my bedroom window,

and I could hear the sound of branches aching for love to wrap

around their leaves like limbs.

It was three a.m. in the last stretch of May.

Springtime calls for heartbeat symphonies

and when we pressed our bodies together they coincided like

chords, like staccatos when I ran my hand down

your spine.

Fog is one of the top reasons that drivers get killed each year.
In the backseat of my car we almost caused

the hundredth casualty,

but all I got were bruises in the shape of apologies

along my thighs.

There are certain people who leave scars when they go.

Tonight I cut my thumb while I was peeling an apple.

I thought of you.

— "A Rendition of Autumn", Shinji Moon

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(Source: commovente)

  • 1 year ago
  • 1246
A zoologist who observed gorillas in their native habitat was amazed by the uniformity of their life and their vast idleness. Hours and hours without doing anything. Was boredom unknown to them? This is indeed a question raised by a human, a busy ape. Far from fleeing monotony, animals crave it, and what they most dread is to see it end. For it ends, only to be replaced by fear, the cause of all activity. Inaction is divine; yet it is against inaction that man has rebelled. Man alone, in nature, is incapable of enduring monotony, man alone wants something to happen at all costs—something, anything…. Thereby he shows himself unworthy of his ancestor: the need for novelty is the characteristic of an alienated gorilla.

— Emil Cioran

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  • 1 year ago
  • 129
There is, indeed, nothing more vexing than to be, for instance, wealthy, of good family, decent-looking, not badly educated, fairly intelligent, even good-natured, and at the same time, to have no talents, no peculiarities, not even a single quirk, not one idea of one’s own, to be decidedly “like everyone else.” You have wealth, but it’s not that of a Rothschild; your family is honorable, but had never distinguished itself in any way; your appearance is seemly, but expresses very little; you have a decent education, but have no idea what use to make of it; you have brains, but no ideas of your own; you have a heart, but no magnanimity; and so on and so forth, in every respect. There is an extraordinary multitude of such people in the world, far more, indeed, than it appears; they may, like all other people, be divided into two major classes: some of limited intelligence, the others “much cleverer.” The first are happier.

— Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Idiot

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  • 1 year ago
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