The hours of pleasure, joy -- breathless over some book, and there was the night an eternity that had long ago begun [as the evening before]. Fragments. Shapes. Blurred, vague and unclear forms of your own "I" [carefully hidden between lines; behind the solemn silence of the words], in someone else's writing: Together we were … Continue reading the collapse
My favorite means of communication is otherworldly: dreams—meeting in dreams. These moments of yearning & craving that flares up -- over and over again! -- in a burn-out heart; the wild, stormy waves of longing that the calmness of my soul disturbing -- when I meet you in someone else's poems: You are like night, calmed, … Continue reading encounter
Just to capture the thought; to sabotage the transience: 10:36 AM I forgot to tell you, that all sad songs reminding me of you; that the times will forget us, and that this autumn has the color of your sadness.
The quiet breathing of the night. The dim light of the street-lamps on the window sill. The solitude of trees in the deserted street. [Overture to the nocturnal symphony of the silence... ] The sleep is not my friend tonight... I'm an outcast of the dream... a hermit of the silence; a sleepless man who wanders through the … Continue reading nocturnal symphony
I'm waiting -- patiently -- with my coworker for my daily caffeine dose at Starbuck (near my workplace.) Behind the glass of the entrance doors appeasers a blond girl, with the red cap and ocean-blue bag. She comes in, sits down at the free table, looks around (somehow absent; with an empty, resigned gaze), the … Continue reading ritual
Art is a way to shout without anger... a slow combustion... Nicholas de Staël: I had a need to think painting, to paint in order to liberate myself from all the impressions, all the feelings, and all the anxieties of which the only solution I know is painting. Nicolas de Staël was an experimental painter. … Continue reading le monde de Staël
Stillness. Serenity. Cold, grey indifference of half-darkened rom. The theme of solitude in the faded moonlight on the ceiling and on the walls; it's treacherous calm which in itself cultivates a bitter fruit of deception. Outside -- night compact as crude oil. The evening has dark color of blind thoughts and living pain. I think of … Continue reading cadence
Sabotage of transience: The most beautiful remembrance of you, is no longer in my heart -- but yet, it lives in the moist breath of the rain. Lethargy. Uneasiness. Langor. -- It's due to the gray gloominess of the autumnal Wednesday-afternoon. (Or it's just another shrewdness of mind to deceive melancholic soul?) The wish The … Continue reading debris
All those [seemingly] trivialities, banalities, that become something, when you write them down. Such as today's silently, gradually extinction of dusk in the darkened abyss of the resigned gaze of an unknown girl.
"The act of reading," writes Mangen, "is intimately linked to the fact that we are body and mind." Both are involved in reading, each according to his specific requirements. This simple and counterintuitive truth is probably the reason for the relative lack of success of e-readers. When we flip through paper pages, Mangen says, we … Continue reading the act of reading