“I have this strange feeling that I’m not myself anymore. It’s hard to put into words, but I guess it’s like I was fast asleep, and someone came, disassembled me, and hurriedly put me back together again. That sort of feeling.”—Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart (via cheriestaceymasson)
“Our differences should then help us rather than drive us apart. In this as in other things, I, for one, believe only in differences, not uniformity, because differences are the roots without which the tree of liberty withers and the sap of creation and civilization dries up.”—Albert Camus, Algerian Chronicles. (via acknowledgetheabsurd)
“For myself, I cannot live without my art. But I have never placed it above everything. If, on the other hand, I need it, it is because it cannot be separated from my fellow men, and it allows me to live, such as I am, on one level with them. It is a means of stirring the greatest number of people by offering them a privileged picture of common joys and sufferings. It obliges the artist not to keep himself apart; it subjects him to the most humble and the most universal truth. And often he who has chosen the fate of the artist because he felt himself to be different soon realizes that he can maintain neither his art nor his difference unless he admits that he is like the others. The artist forges himself to the others, midway between the beauty he cannot do without and the community he cannot tear himself away from. That is why true artists scorn nothing: they are obliged to understand rather than to judge. And if they have to take sides in this world, they can perhaps side only with that society in which, according to Nietzsche’s great words, not the judge but the creator will rule, whether he be a worker or an intellectual.”—Albert Camus, from his Nobel Prize speech in 1957 (via sisyphean-revolt)
I miss the intertwining of legs upon sleep. I miss the stillness that pervaded the air. I miss the exhale rolling over my chest. I miss the smell of shampoo in my face. I miss the locking of fingers that spoke a language of security, of feeling at home. I miss the passion that made it seem like It would never end. Even if I somehow knew that it might end sooner than later, I miss pretending that it would never end.
So now I’m stuck here asking myself, "What is it that I really miss now?" And then I realize that language has betrayed me. Language has failed me. It cannot express, now, the Platonic form of what I’m feeling. It may exist, but without a patent. And maybe, Just maybe, It should be like that.
To spite Wittgenstein, This is my private language Without words. It precludes the alphabet. It abides in Being. It sleeps in an ontological clearing. Veiled. Concealing. My possibility of the impossible. A way to be, Not yet perceived, But yet conceived. I miss feeling the sense of ‘we’ Which could not be translated Objectively.
“they say the suicide usually dies of a heart attack
before he ever reaches ground
that there is a moment of redemption in mid-air
that the jumper waves and shakes his body trying to stop
did you see stars when you landed?
were you burning when you fell?”—From To The Boy Who Exploded, To The Boy Who Drowned, To The Boy Who Fell From Stars by Nicole Blackman (via hush-syrup)
“When you find someone you love, please hold on to them and never let go. Don’t let your own insecurities get in the way. If you feel that this person genuinely cares for you or loves you, then trust this person enough to leave yourself vulnerable.”—Anonymous (via psych-facts)
Did you need scientific proof of this? How would you have definitively and scientifically proved your love existed? If you could not prove it, would that mean your love didn’t exist? What would you trust: your own feelings, or science?
“Sometimes you end up never speaking to someone who meant the world to you again. And that’s okay. You cope and you survive. Don’t let your losses keep you back from new gains.”—I wish someone had told me this when I was hurting, y.g. (via bummedteenager)
So this week has been eventful and busy. I’ve taken my two dance classes so far and I’ve really enjoyed them, especially Salsa dance class. I had my seminar tonight too. This will probably be the most challenging class I’ve had given the content, but probably the most rewarding. I’ve been at the gym almost every night (given that I have dance in the gym three nights a week as well). Overall, I feel good. I feel better. This must be what moving on from the past feels like. I’m only stressing out about my thesis. I need to begin this nonsense soon. lol