i don't know why. i'm just not able to get the words out anymore. i'm not moving forward, only being in moments, and sometimes i forget how long it's been, since anything. perhaps it's that my world has curled up into itself. i don't know. i don't know what i'm waiting for.

Søren Kierkegaard is intelligent, attractive, and has beautiful handwriting.

you know you're a johnny when you want dead philosophers' children.

She told him of ship voyages she had taken to places he had never heard of, and stories he knew were all untrue, were bad not-truths, even, but he nodded and tried to convince himself to be convinced, tried to believe her, because he knew that the origin of a story is always an absence, and he wanted her to live among presences ( Read more... )

"If humans were no longer in the business simply of reproduction and replication (and they had not even had this in the Garden of Eden!) if they had to struggle for their living, then was this not a mercy that they were thus part of a nature red in tooth and claw: otherwise, how boring! But in this set-up what would be a state of grace? There was ( Read more... )

_en attendant godot_, samuel beckett. again ( Read more... )

and you know, i was going to write for a few hours. screw it. my books are waiting.. much to read ( Read more... )

this is somehow ineffably sweet, though it may not seem so. it is, i suppose, the sort of thing that any lass would love to hear, perhaps even a lad would like to hear. a guy in the bookstore said is turns the girl it's written for into nothing but a sex object, but i don't think that's so. it's lovely, that's all.

( i like my body when it is with your (VII) e. e. cummings )

( Read more... )

and now, the complete mouse story, with translation below. forgive the lack of paragraph breaks. suggestions, comments, and corrections are welcome. enjoy. ( l'histoire des souris )

what are you waiting for?