Right, Yeah

sunset

 

– So, is this it?

– I suppose so, why?

– Nothing, really.

– It’s about time, no? They’re all gone now.

– Probably. Cheers.

– Right, yeah.

 

 

• • •

It’s Not That

not-that

 

I mean, I always thought that the music of a thousand instruments, no matter how much out of tune, would make me assemble a sonnet, inevitably.

It’s a little puzzling to discover that it never does and that the fault most likely lies in my own algorithm.

At some point you give up, you owe it to yourself to give up, you have to, right?

Right?

 

 

• • •

No, Wait

"Ribamar Study" by Mia Fontainhas & Vítor Neto, 2016

“Ribamar Study” by Mia Fontainhas & Vítor Neto, 2016

 

No, no, no, no, you misunderstand.

I have no idea of what’s going on, none. That you should think I have, even if barely, says more about about you than it does about me.

My only “choice” was to not have one, to let go.

So I did.

 

 

• • •

The Fever of My Own

img_20161002_163001

 

There was a time, I think, when I’d sacrifice everything for raising my body temperature by so little as a single celsius degree, were it just to be raised by holding your naked skin.

But I don’t know anymore.

I have of course been repeatedly reminded of my blatant selfishness as if somehow I was unaware of it; I wasn’t, the selfishness is implied, inevitable.

What no one ever told me, what I never considered, is the possibility of there being no fever of my own to return. Not by choice, but rather by design.

Don’t look at me, I’m not your kind.

 

 

• • •

Who I Am Not

IMG_20160821_200953

 

This is the new fucking normal, isn’t it just?

All the little silent betrayals which you catalogue as inconsequential because you’ve managed to navigate around mentioning them. Little do you realize that the reason they’re so easily discarded is because you’re not actually betraying anything: even the slightest hint of something laudable enough to betray would make them impossible to circumvent.

I needn’t play along, do I?

I remember these exact words: “None of this is who you are nor is it who you are not.”

 

 

• • •

The Immorality of Sloth

IMG_20160723_182445

 

It doesn’t really matter whether you’re first rate, second rate, or third rate, but it’s of vital importance that the water finds its own level and that you do the very best you can with the powers that are given you. It’s idle to strive for things out of your reach, just as it’s utterly immoral to be slothful about the qualities you have. You see, I’m not fundamentally interested in the artist. I use him to try to become a happy man, which is a good deal harder for me. I find art easy. I find life difficult.

Lawrence Durrell — Paris Review interview

 

 

• • •

To Not Think at All

IMG_20160803_140312

 

“The martini felt cool and clean […] I had never tasted anything so cool and clean. They made me feel civilized. I had had too much red wine, bread, cheese, bad coffee, and grappa. I sat on the high stool before the pleasant mahogany, the brass, and the mirrors and did not think at all.”

Ernest Hemingway — A Farewell to Arms

 

 

• • •

Keine Ahnung

keine_ahnung

 

Noch jede Frau, die er umarmt hatte, fühlte sich geliebt; jede aber, die er wirklich zu lieben begann, sagte ihm früher oder später, daß er, wie alle Männer, von Liebe keine Ahnung habe.

Max Frisch — Mein Name sei Gantenbein

 

 

• • •

Infinites

room

 

Listen, listen:

Do you sometimes wonder if it could very well be that inner boundaries don’t change as often as we think, that there’s a possibility of purity in unstudied declarations?

As if not knowing where we’re running to was the only way to establish glorious, infinite epiphanies.

You know, just running on.

 

 

• • •

So What

IMG_20141130_124909

 

I think I get it or at least parts of it: it’s mostly about the territory and not necessarily a genuine yearning.

This is all not to say that it isn’t legitimate, it absolutely is.

I just wish it were simpler however unlikely and (maybe) painful that sounds.

Someday, who knows.

 

 

 

• • •

The Part That’s Not

mirror

 

It begins like this (I think):

I am not of you. It’s either the other way round or both or none.

You can call it a shitty welcome I suppose, but then again I was just standing here, clearly not longing after amelioration: if at all, that only happens after it’s begun.

 

 

• • •

Yes You Do

IMG_20160507_102218

 

It can sometimes be exasperating to yet again find out that reality can’t be forced, even when you try your best to not be aware of either reality, or of forcing it.

As if this obliviousness could transform it all into a charming little equation, one with a soothing moral balance leaning towards fairness (independently of what “fair” means to you.)

Contemplate, rather. Don’t you know that the shapes you assemble aren’t figments?

Yes you do.

 

 

• • •

The Short Night

cascais

 

Nothing happened yet everything was just right. The night was short but carried with it an intangible melody that no one seemed to notice.

Maybe because we didn’t pay heed to all the tiny twitches of light: we were lost in their lithe concert, more eloquent than any single one of them.

Maybe because it was the first night or the last one or both.

Somehow, we were not surprised.

 

 

• • •

Doubt

Joël Andrianomearisoa — The Labyrinth of Passion

The Labyrinth of Passion by Joël Andrianomearisoa

 

You are never dedicated to something you have complete confidence in. No one is fanatically shouting that the sun is going to rise tomorrow. They know it’s going to rise tomorrow. When people are fanatically dedicated to political or religious faiths or any other kinds of dogmas or goals, it’s always because these dogmas or goals are in doubt.

Robert M. Pirsig — Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance

• • •

Next

Untitled by Patricia Geraldes

untitled by Patricia Geraldes

Look,

Since I imagine that you just assume that I know what to do next, let me be perfectly clear: I have no clue.

What’s more I’m not even certain that a “before” exists to command an hypothetical “next”.

(But I wouldn’t mind at all if it did.)

• • •

Spectacle

spectacle

 

The occupational hazard of making a spectacle of yourself, over the long haul, is that at some point you buy a ticket too.

Thomas McGuane — Panama

 

 

• • •

Saving Grace

stop

There isn’t one, is there? You thought that walking away would protect you from the cold, didn’t you?

You were oh so sure that it would be enough to cobble up a fortress built by Nature for herself against infection and the hand of war, but it never was, how could it?

On the other hand it is all so pretty and you’ve been told that pretty suffices.

 

 

* and yes, I do know whom I misquote.

• • •

Paradox

The Window Pardox

Doesn’t this urgency to publicly announce your impregnable privacy and wise majesty strike you as a bit of a paradox? It’s as if you would open a window to proclaim to the world that it is closed.

Did you ever consider that the world might not care whether it’s open or not?

• • •

Nothing To Add

ze.fontainhas_1456416216_hd

This is all there is, sorry.

Just a few qualities and many shortcomings (all of which vary over time, true, yet their relative proportions stay constant.)

Granted, none of this is in any way remarkable but I hope it presents an explanation, or maybe simply a sufficiently valid reason as to why I have no opinions to offer about this particular predicament or enchantment of yours.

Even if I wanted to I’d still have nothing to add.

• • •
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