August 2010
1 post
“[…] How many we are! How many of us fool ourselves! What seas crash in us, in...”
– from Text 95, The Book of Disquiet | Bernardo Soares (Fernando Pessoa)
invisiblestories
July 2010
1 post
June 2010
3 posts
May 2010
1 post
March 2010
1 post
“If our life were an eternal standing by the window, if we could remain there for...”
– Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet (trans. Richard Zenith)
(via invisiblestories)
January 2010
1 post
“The dreamer’s superiority is due to the fact that dreaming is much more...”
– Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet (via invisiblestories)
September 2009
1 post
July 2009
1 post
regret
Anyone who leaves the office at five o’clock when he’s in the habit of leaving at six is bound to experience a mental holiday, and a feeling like regret for not knowing what to do with himself. (190)
June 2009
7 posts
invisible hands
Sometimes, when I wake up at night, I feel invisible hands weaving my destiny. (186)
the fall
From my idea of the world
I fell…
Void beyond depthlessness…
With no I-ness or Thereness…
Void without selfness, chaos
Of being thought of as being…
Absolute’s rungless ladder…
Vision that won’t be seen…
Beyond God! Beyond God! Black calmness…
Lightning flash of Unknownness…
O my soul, everything has other meanings,
Even its...
i'm beginning to know myself
I’m beginning to know myself. I don’t exist.
I’m the space between what I’d like to be and what others
made of me
Or half that space, because there’s life there too…
So that’s what I finally am…
Turn off the light, close the door, stop shuffling your
slippers out there in the hall.
Just let me be at ease and all by myself in my room....
song
We are two abysses—a well staring at the sky.
i am the escaped one
I am the escaped one,
After I was born
They locked me up inside me
But I left.
My soul seeks me,
Through hills and valley,
I hope my soul
Never finds me.
May 2009
11 posts
party of one
When all by myself, I can think of all kinds of clever remarks, quick comebacks to what no one said, and flashes of witty sociability with nobody. But all of this vanishes when I face someone in the flesh: I lose my intelligence, I can no longer speak, and after half an hour I just feel tired. Yes, talking to people makes me feel like sleeping. Only my ghostly and imaginary friends, only the...
self love
We never love anyone. What we love is the idea we have of someone. It’s our own concept—our own selves—that we love…The relations between one soul and another, expressed through such uncertain and variable things as shared words and proffered gestures, are deceptively complex. The very act of meeting each other is a non-meeting. Two people say “I love you” or...
jarred
I’m a shelf of empty jars. (184)
missing this
I’m tired. I had a long day full of idiotic work in this almost deserted office. Two employees are out sick and the others aren’t here. I’m alone, except for the office boy in the back. I miss the future when I’ll be able to look back and miss all of this, however absurdly. (180)
shadow shirts
Perhaps it’s just hanging laundry from the floor above, but the shadows don’t know they’re from shirts, and they impalpably flutter in hushed harmony with everything else. (151)
i got the evil blues
A sensitive and honest-minded man, if he’s concerned about evil and injustice in the world, will naturally begin his campaign against them by eliminating them at their nearest source: his own person. This task will take his entire life. (160)
the woods
A hot yellow languished in the black green of the trees. (38)
marginalia
Everything stated or expressed by man is a note in the margin of a completely erased text. From what’s in the note we can extract the gist of what must have been in the text, but there’s always a doubt, and the possible meanings are many. (148)
1 tag
collective dumbness
No intelligent idea can gain general acceptance unless some stupidity is mixed in with it. Collective thought is stupid because it’s collective. Nothing passes into the realm of the collective without leaving at the border—like a toll—most of the intelligence it contained. (104)
1 tag
I Am the Cosmos // Chris Bell
3 tags
tourists of ourselves
Eternal tourists of ourselves, there is no landscape but what we are. We possess nothing, for we don’t even possess ourselves. We have nothing because we are nothing. What hand will I reach out, and to what universe? The universe isn’t mine: it’s me. (123)