ohmaan

Archive for August, 2012|Monthly archive page

:)

In west on 08/08/2012 at 11:29 pm

Because, ten-year-olds of the world, you shouldn’t believe what your teachers tell you about the beauty and specialness and uniqueness of you. Or, believe it, little snowflake, but know it won’t make a bit of difference until after puberty. It’s Newton’s lost law: anything that makes you unique later will get your chocolate milk stolen and your eye blackened as a kid. Won’t it, Sebastian? Oh, yes, it will, my little Mandarin Chinese-learning, Poe-reciting, high-top-wearing friend. God bless you, wherever you are.

― Sloane Crosley, I Was Told There’d Be Cake

m

on practice

In east on 08/08/2012 at 1:47 pm

The work of the eyes is done. Go now and do the heart-work on the images imprisoned within you.

Rainer Maria Rilke

n

slow & steady

In east on 08/08/2012 at 1:40 pm

We comfort ourselves by reliving memories of protection. Something closed must retain our memories, while leaving them their original value as images. Memories of the outside world will never have the same tonality as those of home and, by recalling these memories, we add to our store of dreams; we are never real historians, but always near poets, and our emotion is perhaps nothing but an expression of a poetry that was lost.”

 Bachelard, The Poetics of Space

n

kidnapped

In east on 08/06/2012 at 8:12 pm

The girls in California were probably prettier in a standard sense than the New York girls–blonder and in better health, I guess; but I still preferred the way the girls in New York looked–stranger and more neurotic (a girl always looked more beautiful and fragile when she was about to have a nervous breakdown).

To Andy:

Happy Birthday!

n

Hi

In west on 08/05/2012 at 5:39 am

The proof that the little prince existed is that he was charming, that he laughed, and that he was looking for a sheep. If anybody wants a sheep, that is a proof that he exists.

de saint-exupéry, The Little Prince

But more than that, no unloving words were ever spoken, and everything was held up as another small piece of proof that it can be this way, it doesn’t have to be that way; if there is no love in the world, we will make a new world, and we will give it heavy walls, and we will furnish it with soft red interiors, from the inside out, and give it a knocker that resonates like a diamond falling to a jeweler’s felt so that we should never hear it.

foer, Everything Is Illuminated

m

Wednesday

In west on 08/01/2012 at 7:16 pm

I have written letters that are failures, but I have written few, I think, that are lies. Trying to reach a person means asking the same question over and over again: Is this the truth, or not? I begin this letter to you, then, in the western tradition. If I understand it, the western tradition is:

Put your cards on the table.

m

from Kafka on the Shore; in south lake tahoe

In west on 08/01/2012 at 1:08 am

People are by and large a product of where they were born and raised. How you think and feel’s always linked to the lie of the land, the temperature. The prevailing winds, even.

m