(no subject)
I am so. fucking. bored.
I've already taken a 1 AM moonlit walk around the neighborhood, read a lot in the current novel I'm immersed in, watched a movie, played some Game Boy, and fucked around on the internet for as long as I could (not in that order).
When I get this bored, I get overwhelmed with the desire to find or make trouble. I am trying to avoid this, so I am updating instead.
However, I have nothing to say.
I will read poetry and post anything that stands out. That will consume some time.
From The Tao 63
Act by not acting
accomplish by not straining,
understand by not knowing.
Regard the humble as exalted
and the exalted as humble.
Remedy injury with tranquil repair.
Meet the difficult while it is still easy;
cross the universe one step at a time.
Because the sage doesn't try anything too big,
she's able to accomplish big things.
Those who commit lightly seldom come through.
Those who think everything is easy
will find everything hard.
The sage understands that everything is difficult,
and thus in the end has no difficulties.
Snow
It began to snow at midnight. And certainly
the kitchen is the best place to sit,
even the kitchen of the sleepless.
It's warm there, you cook youself something, drink wine
and look out of the window at your friend eternity.
Why care whether birth and death are merely points
when life is not a straight line.
Why torment yourself eyeing the calendar
and wondering what is at stake.
Why confess you don't have the money
to buy Saskia shoes?
And why brag
that you suffer more than others.
If there were no silence here
the snow would have dreamed it up.
You are alone.
Spare the gestures. Nothing for show.
Vladimir Holan
One more.
Why it Often Rains in Movies
Because so much consequential thinking
happens in the rain. A steady mist
to recall departures, a bitter downpour
for betrayal. As if the first thing
a man wants to do when he learns his wife
is sleeping with his best friend, and has been
for years, the very first thing
is not to make a drink, and drink it,
and make another, but to walk outside
into bad weather. It's true
that the way we look doesn't always
reveal our feelings. Which is a problem
for the movies. And why somebody has to smash
a mirror, for example, to show he's angry
and full of self-hate, whereas actual people
rarely do this. And rarely sit on benches
in the pouring rain to weep. Is he wondering
why he didn't see it long ago? Is he wondering
if in fact he did, and lied to himself?
And perhaps she also saw the many ways
he'd allowed himself to be deceived. In this city
it will rain all night. So the three of them
return to their houses, and the wife
and her lover go upstairs to bed
while the husband takes a small black pistol
from a drawer, turns it over in his hands,
then puts it back. Thus demonstrating
his inability to respond to passion
with passion. But we don't want him
to shoot his wife, or his friend, or himself.
And we've begun to suspect
that none of this is going to work out,
that we'll leave the theater feeling
vaguely cheated, just as the movie,
turning away from the husband's sorrow,
leaves him to be a man who must continue,
day after day, to walk outside into the rain,
outside and back again, since now there can be
nowhere in this world for him to rest.
Lawrence Raab
I love poetry. It's not appreciated even close to enough.
I've already taken a 1 AM moonlit walk around the neighborhood, read a lot in the current novel I'm immersed in, watched a movie, played some Game Boy, and fucked around on the internet for as long as I could (not in that order).
When I get this bored, I get overwhelmed with the desire to find or make trouble. I am trying to avoid this, so I am updating instead.
However, I have nothing to say.
I will read poetry and post anything that stands out. That will consume some time.
From The Tao 63
Act by not acting
accomplish by not straining,
understand by not knowing.
Regard the humble as exalted
and the exalted as humble.
Remedy injury with tranquil repair.
Meet the difficult while it is still easy;
cross the universe one step at a time.
Because the sage doesn't try anything too big,
she's able to accomplish big things.
Those who commit lightly seldom come through.
Those who think everything is easy
will find everything hard.
The sage understands that everything is difficult,
and thus in the end has no difficulties.
Snow
It began to snow at midnight. And certainly
the kitchen is the best place to sit,
even the kitchen of the sleepless.
It's warm there, you cook youself something, drink wine
and look out of the window at your friend eternity.
Why care whether birth and death are merely points
when life is not a straight line.
Why torment yourself eyeing the calendar
and wondering what is at stake.
Why confess you don't have the money
to buy Saskia shoes?
And why brag
that you suffer more than others.
If there were no silence here
the snow would have dreamed it up.
You are alone.
Spare the gestures. Nothing for show.
Vladimir Holan
One more.
Why it Often Rains in Movies
Because so much consequential thinking
happens in the rain. A steady mist
to recall departures, a bitter downpour
for betrayal. As if the first thing
a man wants to do when he learns his wife
is sleeping with his best friend, and has been
for years, the very first thing
is not to make a drink, and drink it,
and make another, but to walk outside
into bad weather. It's true
that the way we look doesn't always
reveal our feelings. Which is a problem
for the movies. And why somebody has to smash
a mirror, for example, to show he's angry
and full of self-hate, whereas actual people
rarely do this. And rarely sit on benches
in the pouring rain to weep. Is he wondering
why he didn't see it long ago? Is he wondering
if in fact he did, and lied to himself?
And perhaps she also saw the many ways
he'd allowed himself to be deceived. In this city
it will rain all night. So the three of them
return to their houses, and the wife
and her lover go upstairs to bed
while the husband takes a small black pistol
from a drawer, turns it over in his hands,
then puts it back. Thus demonstrating
his inability to respond to passion
with passion. But we don't want him
to shoot his wife, or his friend, or himself.
And we've begun to suspect
that none of this is going to work out,
that we'll leave the theater feeling
vaguely cheated, just as the movie,
turning away from the husband's sorrow,
leaves him to be a man who must continue,
day after day, to walk outside into the rain,
outside and back again, since now there can be
nowhere in this world for him to rest.
Lawrence Raab
I love poetry. It's not appreciated even close to enough.