my life might lose sight of itself and disappear

[from Have You Seen Me? © 1991 by Elizabeth Graver, p80:]


---For a moment I wanted to tell him it was because I cared about him, but then I realized that perhaps it was only because I cared about myself. I needed to talk, all the time, about everything; if I didn't talk, my life might lose sight of itself and disappear, the way people with no baby pictures couldn't conceive of ever having been so small. I needed voices around me, not just his, but many voices. I needed a job where I was expected at a certain hour, where a great many things piled up on my desk and I finished the day reeling and tumbled into sleep. ...


[For me this captures one of those self-realization moments that people (i hope) occasionally have. (Because i sure do.)  It's OK to need people; it means you're alive.

And i encourage everyone to seek out an Elizabeth Graver book or story; she's one of the best.

Enjoy the day!]

loving the dead

[from The Secret Names of Women © 1998 by Lynne Barrett, p85:]


---"You always love the dead the most," Grandma says, "because they can never hurt you anymore."
---There. That's the kind of amazing thing Grandma says. Morbid Victorian Catholic stuff. ...


[Hey, peeps. A taste of Lynne Barrett this morning. (Well, it's because i'm sick (with a cough/cold thing) and busy these days. 'It' being the implied paucity of blog entries recently, or perhaps their dark leanings.)

Hmmm, 'Morbid Victorian Catholic' might be a good rock band name, too. MVC. I don't know.

And who's even better (or worse) to love than the dead are the fictional, because they can't really ever hurt you at all.

Okay, folks; move toward the light. :-) ]

color

[from Deep Play © 1999 by Diane Ackerman, p187:]

---In the lavender hour of twilight, a glorious sunset begins with a slow caravan of red, orange, and yellow gushing behind the forest of aspen and pine. At last it builds to a swirling tumult of scarlet, fuchsia, and deepest purple. All over the world people witness and celebrate this daily marvel, as sunlight traveling through the lens of the atmosphere bends into intense, ambiguous colors. How we love to play games with color. I picture the neon lights of Hong Kong; the carnival costumes in Rio de Janeiro; New Guinea warriors in paint, masks, and headdresses; Spanish flamenco dancers. Our passion for color connects us intimately to people everywhere, but also to plants and animals. We are all of us bamboozled by its trickery, exalted by its richness, and enslaved by its messages. Craving color like a drug, we will rise at dawn, or trek long distances to scenic lookout points, just to drink color from the fountains of the sun.

[Hey peeps. Another month of "vacation" with no blog entries. But back again.

Be well. (And recover from your cold.)]

interior life

[from An American Childhood © 1987 by Annie Dillard, p20:]

---The interior life is often stupid. Its egoism blinds it and deafens it; its imagination spins out ignorant tales, fascinated. It fancies that the western wind blows on the Self, and leaves fall at the feet of the Self for a reason, and people are watching. A mind risks real ignorance for the sometimes paltry prize of an imagination enriched. The trick of reason is to get the imagination to seize the actual world—if only from time to time.


[Hard words, but right on. This quote begins a part of the book about Annie Dillard being five and overcoming a fear of going to bed because of the repeated perception of the approach of a monster in her bedroom. Eventually she figures out what she's actually perceiving; read the book and find out what caused her fears—you'll love it!

Here's to seizing the actual world. Shine on, you crazy diamonds . . . .]

back again

Ok, so today no quote. (And thanks for granting me a month's vacation: i needed it.)

Who cares about "Lit" anymore anyway, when there's everything else in the world? Music. Tele-visions. Insulated double-pane windows. Nature trails. Running shoes. A million different wonders.

Take some time and enjoy it all. Or at least what you have time for.

the point of making love

[from Far Afield © 1990 by Susanna Kaysen, p313-14:]

---"Jonathan?" Her tone was tentative.
---"Yeah." He braced himself for a new accusation.
---"It wasn't really right, what I said."
---"Oh?" He turned around.
---"It's that I felt alone." She paused. "As if you didn't want me in particular."
---"Well, whose fault is that?" He was tired. "You made such a fuss about no future and just this visit. What do you expect me to do?"
---"You could be with me. Then you'd have more to remember."
---"That's just a fancy way of saying more to lose."
---"Maybe losses are wealth," said Daniela.
---Jonathan stared out to sea. Was he the sum of his losses, soon to be increased a hundredfold when this landscape no longer met his eyes? He turned back to look into her eyes and was surprised to see the glaze of desire on them. He moved a step closer, and she stood up. For a moment she was standing in his arms, then they were falling onto the cool cushion of grass, their green, cloud-canopied bed.

[I do so enjoy women writing men characters—they're some of the only men i can actually stand! I only wish Susanna Kaysen would write some more stories, but i guess that it's up to us writers to carry on the torch as best we can. Or maybe i could look her up somewhere, meet her, and get her to share some ideas about writing.

I guess this morning i was looking for something to illuminate love and loss, endings, and the ways people find to go on with their lives.

Hold on to what is good, peeps. Farewell.]

Does The World Have Meaning?

[from Living By Fiction © 1982 by Annie Dillard, p185:]

---Which shall it be?  Do art's complex and balanced relationships among all parts, its purpose, significance, and harmony, exist in nature?  Is nature whole, like a completed thought?  Is history purposeful?  Is the universe of matter significant?  I am sorry; I do not know.

[Here's to the asking of questions, big and little.  Good job, Annie.

Be well, gentle reader; don't let the bastards get you down.]