My Salad Days |
...when I was green in judgement, cold in blood. |
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Hold me, I’m folding, I can’t see land
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I cannot
and I will not
No, I cannot love you less
Like the flower to the butterfly
The corsage to the dress
She turns my love to dust
my destination empty
my beliefs scattered: Diaspora!
Who set this course - and why?
Now my wings beat -
without purpose
Yet they speed…….……
Eurolove-Spike Milligan -
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“What a terrible thing it is to botch a fairwell. I am a person who believes in form, in the harmony of order. Where we can, we must give things a meaningful shape. For example-I wonder-could you tell my jumbled story in 100 chapters, not one more, not one less? I’ll tell you, that’s one thing I hate about my nickname, the way that number runs on forever. It’s important in life to conclude things properly. Otherwise you are left with words you should have said but never did, and your heart is heavy with remorse.” —Yann Martel -
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“He no longer dreamed of storms, nor of women, nor of great occurrences, nor of great fish, nor fights, nor contests of strength, nor of his wife…he only dreams of places now and of the lions on the beach”. —Old Man and the Sea (Ernest Hemingway)
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“I loved you like a man loves a woman he never touches, only writes to, keeps little photographs of. I would have loved you more if I had sat in a small room rolling a cigarette and listened to you piss in the bathroom, but that didn’t happen. Your letters got sadder. Your lovers betrayed you. Kid, I wrote back, all lovers betray. It didn’t help.”
(Charles Bukowski)
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Winter has loomed this week. The UK government have announced huge, devastating cuts to public services in their attempt to overcome the deficit. Whilst many will agree that cuts have to be made, the loss of 500 000 public sectors jobs, of cuts of 40% to Higher Education…it has been some time since I felt so impassioned and so angry at what is happening. With this comes the biting Scottish weather, the clothes in my room are damp from cold, and I sleep with gloves on. I am wondering about friendships and kisses and the sting of the wind on my cheeks when I walk at night. I don’t know what is going to happen but I am terribly scared but terribly hopeful all in one.
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"I am half inclined to think we are all ghosts, Mr. Manders. It is not only what we have inherited from our fathers and mothers that exists again in us, but all sorts of old dead ideas and all kinds of old dead beliefs and things of that kind. They are not actually alive in us; but there they are dormant, all the same, and we can never be rid of them. Whenever I take up a newspaper and read it, I fancy I see ghosts creeping between the lines. There must be ghosts all over the world. They must be as countless as the grains of the sands, it seems to me. And we are so miserably afraid of the light, all of us."
Ghosts, Henrik Ibsen
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But all I want is your eyes
In the morning as we wake
For a short while
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Notes
Maybe, possibly? I hope so.
(via istanton)
