(no subject)
I'm now reading Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close by Jonathan Safran Foer and i just read the second chapter and yet it is worth telling about that, single chapter!
The second chapter is a letter a man writes to his unborn child, about how he loses words, he can't say them anymore, because he lost Anna ( he lost the oppurtunity to love her/move on with her, i don't know about that -yet ).
He loses words as "and" so he has to use "ampersand" instead. And he loses more, like "want," "come," "fine," and "yes" and "no". And more and more and so much more he loses.
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I went to a tattoo parlor and had YES written onto the palm of my left hand, and NO onto my right palm, what can I say, it hasn't made life wonderful, it's made life possible, when I rub my hands against each other in the middle of winter I am warming myself with the friction YES and NO, when I clap my hands I am showing my appreciation through the uniting and parting of YES and NO, I signify "book"by peeling open my clapped hands, every book, for me, is the balance of YES and NO, even this one, my last one, especially this one. - Does it break my heart, of course, every moment of every day, into more pieces than my heart was made of, I never thought of myself as quiet, much less silent, I never thought about things at all, everything changed, the distance that wedged itself between me and my happiness wasn't the world, it wasn't bombs and burning buildings, it was me, my thinking, the cancer of never letting go, is ignorance bliss, I don't know, but it's so painful to think, and tell me, what did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me? I think and think and think, I've thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.
That all sounds pretty beautiful, doesn't it? And painful, god it sounds painful...
When he loses the last word "I", he starts carrying blank books which he fills in with the things he couldn't say. Every page one piece, word, sentence.
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(...)and instead of singing in the shower I would write out the lyrics of my favourite songs, the ink would turn the water blue or red or green, and the music would run down my legs, at the end of each day I would take the book to bed with me and read through the pages of my life:
It all sounds so poetic!
And then he tells I was already out of words when I met your mother, that may have been what made our marriage possible, she never had to know me. about how he met her.
And how she keeps talking to make him laugh and how she says she can see he lost everything, and she herself, too.
And she cries when he writes down he doesn't speak. And then she writes down "Please marry me".
The book itself is about Oskar Schell, a nine-year-old. His father gets killed in the September 11th attacks on the WTC and Oskar sets out to solve the mystery of a key he discovers in his father's closet.
But I haven't read about that yet...!
The second chapter is a letter a man writes to his unborn child, about how he loses words, he can't say them anymore, because he lost Anna ( he lost the oppurtunity to love her/move on with her, i don't know about that -yet ).
He loses words as "and" so he has to use "ampersand" instead. And he loses more, like "want," "come," "fine," and "yes" and "no". And more and more and so much more he loses.
-
I went to a tattoo parlor and had YES written onto the palm of my left hand, and NO onto my right palm, what can I say, it hasn't made life wonderful, it's made life possible, when I rub my hands against each other in the middle of winter I am warming myself with the friction YES and NO, when I clap my hands I am showing my appreciation through the uniting and parting of YES and NO, I signify "book"by peeling open my clapped hands, every book, for me, is the balance of YES and NO, even this one, my last one, especially this one. - Does it break my heart, of course, every moment of every day, into more pieces than my heart was made of, I never thought of myself as quiet, much less silent, I never thought about things at all, everything changed, the distance that wedged itself between me and my happiness wasn't the world, it wasn't bombs and burning buildings, it was me, my thinking, the cancer of never letting go, is ignorance bliss, I don't know, but it's so painful to think, and tell me, what did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me? I think and think and think, I've thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it.
That all sounds pretty beautiful, doesn't it? And painful, god it sounds painful...
When he loses the last word "I", he starts carrying blank books which he fills in with the things he couldn't say. Every page one piece, word, sentence.
-
(...)and instead of singing in the shower I would write out the lyrics of my favourite songs, the ink would turn the water blue or red or green, and the music would run down my legs, at the end of each day I would take the book to bed with me and read through the pages of my life:
It all sounds so poetic!
And then he tells I was already out of words when I met your mother, that may have been what made our marriage possible, she never had to know me. about how he met her.
And how she keeps talking to make him laugh and how she says she can see he lost everything, and she herself, too.
And she cries when he writes down he doesn't speak. And then she writes down "Please marry me".
The book itself is about Oskar Schell, a nine-year-old. His father gets killed in the September 11th attacks on the WTC and Oskar sets out to solve the mystery of a key he discovers in his father's closet.
But I haven't read about that yet...!