...How things have changed (doggie-doggie paw-paw), or not. I still remember the day when I myself headbutted rora into reviving some sort of an - a n k i - reincarnation, and this was what we got, around one month later on a November night so fine. We still seem to be doing quite well, quite well. Jing will plaigarize tonight by not citing her sources, because "what's past has faded, died, and lingers no more; and only its remains appear in patchworks of quotation, as in all the fussy, fretted centos that I have assembled..."then let men kill which cannot share, let blood and flesh be mud and mire, scheming imagine, passion willed, freedom a drug that's bought and sold
We for that time might taste the famous age
Eternal here yet hidden from our eyes
When lust of power undid its stuffless rage;
They, in a wineskin, bore earth's paradise.
We learn, as the thread plays out, that we belong less to what flatters us than to what scars. The world lives by the trick of the eye, the trick of the heart.
To perceive that spirit of suffering in its raging purity
is to a god the burden of his divinity.
O then, if he exists, have pity on this god.
He is clamped to that wounded crust with its slime of blood.
He has no ignorance to hold him separate.
They were men who, I thought, lived only to renew the wasteful force they spent with each hot convulsion. (...but now that they are indeed apart, winnowed from failures, they withdraw to an orbit and turn with disinterested hard energy, like the stars.)
" "Probably bored with the appearance of heaven after so many millions of nights without sleep, without purpose, without self-deception. Minute after minute, aeon after aeon, nothing lets up or develops. And this is neither a bad variant nor a tryout.
This is where the staring angels go through.
This is where all the stars bow down.
To go low, to be as nothing, to die,
To sleep in the dark water threading through
The fields of ice, the soapy, frothing water
That slithers under the culvert below the road,
Water of dirt, water of death, dark water,
And through the tangle of the sleeping roots
Under the coppery cold beech woods, ...
To fall with the weight of things down on the one
Still ebbing stream, to go on to the end
With the convict hunted through the swamp all night.
...is the race run to stay or pass away?
To be combed and carded silver at the fall;
It is a secret. Or it is not to know
The secret, but to have it in your keeping,
A locked box...
...Who the heck was it that said, "Hamlet is the patron saint of all emos"? Good god, if I chuckled/sneered when I first saw that, I seriously believe in/understand it now too. The above are all actual quotes that I'm about to stuff into my essay due Wednesday... Hyo probably knows what I'm talking about due to holy same-class-ness.To lighten up the mood a bit, I present you all some of wifey's wisdom. (Why is this entry so R-rated-looking...-_-;)
Happy first birthday, whattheboob.
