I read my last letter to you again today. I could almost – almost – feel the love I had once for you. Then I saw the pain and anguish. I saw pieces of myself lying in puddles of blood, screaming your name.
Fuck. I’m stoned.
I read my last letter to you again today. I could almost – almost – feel the love I had once for you. Then I saw the pain and anguish. I saw pieces of myself lying in puddles of blood, screaming your name.
Fuck. I’m stoned.
— Albert Camus – author, journalist, and philosopher (1913-1960)
– Edna St. Vincent Millay (1892-1950), poet.
– Quote from The Internship movie
– Friedrich Nietzsche
First, picture the forest. I want you to be its conscience, the eyes in the trees. The trees are columns of slick, brindled bark like muscular animals overgrown beyond all reason. Every space is filled with life: delicate, poisonous frogs war-painted like skeletons, clutched in copulation, secreting their precious eggs onto dripping leaves. Vines strangling their own kin in the everlasting wrestle for sunlight. The breathing of monkeys. A glide of snake belly on branch. A single file army of ants biting a mammoth tree into uniform grains and hauling it down to the dark for their ravenous queen. And, in reply, a choir of seedlings arching their necks out of rotted tree stumps, sucking life out of death. This forest eats itself and lives forever.
Opening paragraph of The Poisonwood Bible, by Barbara Kingsolver, c.1998
— Pedro Calderon de la Barca
– Some guy in the Facebook comments
– Frank Zappa
I own nothing.
Not even myself. We are all borrowed sets of particles that have existed in the universe since always, to infinity.