September 24, 2014

These poems they are things that I do in the dark reaching for you whoever you are and are you ready?
These words they are stones in the water running away
These skeletal lines they are desperate arms for my longing and love.
I am a stranger learning to worship the strangers around me
whoever you are whoever I may become.
These poems by June Jordan


These poems 
they are things that I do 
in the dark 
reaching for you 
whoever you are 
are you ready?

These words 
they are stones in the water 
running away

These skeletal lines 
they are desperate arms for my longing and love.

I am a stranger 
learning to worship the strangers 
around me

whoever you are 
whoever I may become.

These poems by June Jordan

August 31, 2014

The old man said, ‘You will be required to do wrong no matter where you go. It is the basic condition of life, to be required to violate your own identity. At some time, every creature which lives must do so. It is the ultimate shadow, the defeat of creation; this is the curse at work, the curse that feeds on all life. Everywhere in the universe.’

Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

August 28, 2014

I knew I should be grateful to Mrs Guinea, only I couldn’t feel a thing. If Mrs Guinea had given me a ticket to Europe, or a round-the-world cruise, it wouldn’t have made one scrap of difference to me, because wherever I sat — on the deck of a ship or at a street café in Paris or Bangkok — I would be sitting under the same glass bell jar, stewing in my own sour air.

Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

August 26, 2014

I decided to expect nothing from Buddy Willard. If you expect nothing from somebody you are never disappointed.

Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

August 9, 2014

I’d like to thank… the heaven and the earth… All the people who have supported Kamiya-san until now… And my fate for keeping me alive… until today.

Taeko Watanabe, Kaze Hikaru (OT: 風光る,  translated by Tetsuichiro Miyaki)

August 8, 2014

I felt like I wouldn’t mind even if those inescapable regrets that we’re all left with, that lie buried deep inside every one of us, ended up being nothing more than a bit of color added to the night — as long as I could enjoy the incredible beauty of this quietly blurring, infinitely reflected scenery until morning, when everything would return once again to zero.

Banana Yoshimoto, “Love Songs” (published in Asleep; OT: 白河夜船 しらかわよぶね, translated by Michael Emmerich)

August 5, 2014

"My father," he said, "You wouldn’t remember my father?"

"Oh, yes."

"Well. Sometimes I think he had the right idea."

Then he lifted his head, gave it a shake, and made a pronouncement.

"Love never dies."

She felt impatient to the point of taking offense. This is what all the speechmaking turns you into, she thought, a person who can say things like that. Love dies all the time, or at any rate it becomes distracted, overlaid — it might as well be dead.

Alice Munro, “Carried Away” (published in Open Secrets)

August 4, 2014

My eyes were burning from squinting at books. I should have been heading back towards Delhi Gate to catch a bus. There was a foul taste in my mouth — as if I had inhaled so much particulated old paper from the air. Strange thoughts brew in your heart when you spend too much time with old books.

Aravind Adiga, The White Tiger

April 14, 2014

When I walked away that night I was longing for love and loyalty. The wide yearning of my nature had to funnel through a narrow neck — it went into the idea of the ‘other’, the almost-twin, who would be so near to me but not me. A Plato-like split of a complete being. We would find each other one day — and then everything would be all right.

I had to believe that — how else would I have coped? And yet I was heading for the dangerous losses that ‘all or nothing’ love demands.

Jeanette Winterson, Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?

April 6, 2014

It was that time of life: Talents were rising to the surface, weaknesses were beginning to show through, we were finding out what kind of people we would be. Some would turn out beautiful, some funny, some shy. Some would be smart, others smarter. The chubby ones would likely always be chubby. The beloved, I sensed, would be beloved for life. And I worried that loneliness might work that way, too. Maybe loneliness was imprinted in my genes, lying dormant for years but now coming into full bloom.

Karen Thompson Walker, The Age of Miracles

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