February 2012
16 posts
a (anima).
we’ve forgotten
the meaning of a day,
too mesmorized
and hypnotized
by the hands of a clock,
breathing
is just a drop
of life
inside an ocean
of existence.
Pieces of Lovely: Walking the tightrope of a set schedule is like a life lockdown. →
piecesoflovely.tumblr.com
You know what you’re doing every minute of every day. There is not time for creativity, or accepting the random sudden opportunity. The only word for it is stifling. I’ll see through my semester, but thank God it does not have to last beyond that.
And then I wonder, how many have lasted like this…
“At about twelve or thirteen, I found out what I was really useful for - to live. Why did God put all these things here for us to be interested in?”
—James Byron Dean
“
Biff: I tell ya, Hap, I don’t know what the future is. I don’t know—what I’m supposed to want.
Happy: What do you mean?
Biff: Well, I spent six or seven years after high school trying to work myself up. Shipping clerk, salesman, business of one kind or another. And it’s a measly manner of existence. To get on that subway on the hot mornings in summer. To devote your whole life to keeping stock, or making phone calls, or selling or buying. To suffer fifty weeks of the year for the sake of a two-week vacation, when all you really desire is to be outdoors, with your shirt off. And always to have to get ahead of the next fella. And still—that’s how you build a future.
Happy: Well, you really enjoy it on a farm? Are you content out there?
Biff: Hap, I’ve had twenty or thirty different kinds of jobs since I left home before the war, and it always turns out the same. I just realized it lately. In Nebraska when I herded cattle, and the Dakotas, and Arizona, and now in Texas. It’s why I came home now, I guess, because I realized it. This farm I work on, it’s spring there now, see? …And whenever spring comes to where I am, I suddenly get the feeling, my God, I’m not gettin’ anywhere! What the hell am I doing, playing around with horses, twenty-eight dollars a week! I’m thurty-four years old, I oughta be makin’ my future. That’s when I come running home. And now, I get here, and I don’t know what to do with myself. I’ve always made it a point of not wasting my life, and every time I come back here, I know that all I’ve done is to waste my life.
” —Death of a Salesman - Arthur Miller
“If a dancer dances – which is not the same as having theories about dancing or wishing to dance or trying to dance or remembering in his body someone else’s dance – but if the dancer dances, everything is there… Our ecstasy in dance comes from the possible gift of freedom, the exhilarating moment that this exposing of the bare energy can give us. What is meant is not license, but freedom…”
—Merce Cunningham (1952)
“But there is more to streams
Than the water to gorge on
Plunge your face in a brook
To wash the desire away
A fool to drink
To drink and not taste” —James Dean
Than the water to gorge on
Plunge your face in a brook
To wash the desire away
A fool to drink
To drink and not taste” —James Dean
Okay, Thursday.
I’ll see your rain and burnt toast and raise you a successful kale, sesame, ginger stir-fry and unexpectedly large paycheck.
[Side note: this song is keeping me going today.]
