(no subject)
Resolution to Blog More With Words, here we go :) I'm not feeling the best at the moment, and my mother has introduced me to a book that I think will become one of my go-to books during sickness and insomnia: Stevie Smith's Novel on Yellow Paper. It's also got a lively, I Do What I Like, Thor! kind of writing style that's helpful to be exposed to in my current state of complete block on my WIP.
Have a quote!
My friendships, they are a very strong part of my life, they are as light as gossamer but also they are as strong as steel. And I cannot throw them off, nor altogether do with them or without them. And I love them at the point when they say: It is nice to see you again. And I love them too at the point when they say: Good-bye, come again soon.
The rhythm of friendship is a very good rhythm. But now I am involved again in love, and I must marry, or I must not marry. And the rhythm of friendship is now so strong in my blood; I must go, I must come back. Here I am again. Now I am going.
And this rhythm is antipathetic to marriage, and it is not very successful in love without marriage, always it has been making a great deal of trouble for me in the past, for all my life. For they do not always feel as I do, that first they must go and then they must come back, and for them it is often not at the same time gossamer-light and steel-strong. It is steel-strong while it is in full current, but afterwards for them it is perhaps not anything at all. While for me it is gossamer-light while it is in full current and steel-strong at the same time. But the steel-strong is not then apparent, and I am happy and laugh a lot, and do not think about the steel-strongness at all.
But after, when perhaps they have gone, at once the gossamer lightness falls away and the steel stays and is apparent. And this causes a great deal of sadness and wildness and despair. And you turn this way and that way, and there is nothing, there is nothing to be done at all, for all the wildness and tears and despair. You have lost. Suddenly you have lost everything, and the hours are long, and only a thousand hours will at all help to heal. Les heures s'écoulent, so slowly, minute by minute, and the friends are very kind and say: Time is the only doctor. And it is true. But he is certainly a slow worker that Time, and no anaesthetist at all. And you sit and cry and wring your hands and cry: Soll ich niemals wieder ruhig sein. Never, never, nevermore. Quoth the Raven.
Oh the orgy of stürmisch sadness of despair and death. And after the thousand hours, and the thousand hours and one, it is again all right, it is again quite all right, and the waggish Pompey prances forth, and the lover now in memory becomes a friend, whose memory is delightful although never may he be seen again.
This entry was originally posted at http://fahye.dreamwidth.org/761953.html (
comments). Comment wherever you wish!
Have a quote!
My friendships, they are a very strong part of my life, they are as light as gossamer but also they are as strong as steel. And I cannot throw them off, nor altogether do with them or without them. And I love them at the point when they say: It is nice to see you again. And I love them too at the point when they say: Good-bye, come again soon.
The rhythm of friendship is a very good rhythm. But now I am involved again in love, and I must marry, or I must not marry. And the rhythm of friendship is now so strong in my blood; I must go, I must come back. Here I am again. Now I am going.
And this rhythm is antipathetic to marriage, and it is not very successful in love without marriage, always it has been making a great deal of trouble for me in the past, for all my life. For they do not always feel as I do, that first they must go and then they must come back, and for them it is often not at the same time gossamer-light and steel-strong. It is steel-strong while it is in full current, but afterwards for them it is perhaps not anything at all. While for me it is gossamer-light while it is in full current and steel-strong at the same time. But the steel-strong is not then apparent, and I am happy and laugh a lot, and do not think about the steel-strongness at all.
But after, when perhaps they have gone, at once the gossamer lightness falls away and the steel stays and is apparent. And this causes a great deal of sadness and wildness and despair. And you turn this way and that way, and there is nothing, there is nothing to be done at all, for all the wildness and tears and despair. You have lost. Suddenly you have lost everything, and the hours are long, and only a thousand hours will at all help to heal. Les heures s'écoulent, so slowly, minute by minute, and the friends are very kind and say: Time is the only doctor. And it is true. But he is certainly a slow worker that Time, and no anaesthetist at all. And you sit and cry and wring your hands and cry: Soll ich niemals wieder ruhig sein. Never, never, nevermore. Quoth the Raven.
Oh the orgy of stürmisch sadness of despair and death. And after the thousand hours, and the thousand hours and one, it is again all right, it is again quite all right, and the waggish Pompey prances forth, and the lover now in memory becomes a friend, whose memory is delightful although never may he be seen again.
This entry was originally posted at http://fahye.dreamwidth.org/761953.html (
comments). Comment wherever you wish!