comparing socrates’ idea of love to love in romantic comedies before diving into some neo-platonism.
I’m proud that this sort of procrastination hasn’t surfaced until now.
(some aphorisms to supplement an autobiographical project for a class I’m taking this semester on Nietzsche)
I. When you feel the blood rushing to your face,
breathe knowing that it comes from a good place
and that your heart beats as a constant reminder
that you are not an object.
II. When love starts to bloom let your guard down,
put your phone down, put your foot down;
don’t save all the dead flowers, but do plant new seeds.
III. When you start finding needles
in your best friend’s haystack and
they’re losing just as much money as they are weight-
retrace the track marks and call for help.
IV. When you wait until a funeral to eulogize someone
you’ve taken your connection for granted;
don’t delay letting the people you love know.
V. When you stop writing out of fear
that what’s reflected in the ink is permanent,
let it dry and go to the next page
where only impressions from the words you wrote strongest survive.
No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear. I am not afraid, but the sensation is like being afraid. The same fluttering in the stomach, the same restlessness, the yawning. I keep on swallowing. At other times it feels like being mildly drunk, or concussed. There is a sort of invisible blanket between the world and me. I find it hard to take in what anyone says. Or perhaps, hard to want to take it in. It is so uninteresting. Yet I want the others to be about me. I dread the moments when the house is empty. If only they would talk to one another and not to me.
And grief still feels like fear. Perhaps more strictly, like suspense. Or like waiting; just hanging about waiting for something to happen. It gives life a permanently provisional feeling. It doesn’t seem worth starting anything. I can’t settle down. I yawn, I fidget, I smoke too much. Up till this I always had too little time. Now there is nothing but time. Almost pure time, empty successiveness.
— CS Lewis: Grief Observed (via dionnemcfx)
Either reading books or music. Human interaction is as overrated as contradictions.
—Don't Think Twice, It's All Right
—Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow