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Mar. 27th, 2012
Part three of Sylvia’s date with Bob. Bob seems to be little more than an ornament for her, as she is far more in love with herself as budding artist. Not that we have to feel bad for the guy, since he will at least get to enjoy some kissy, make-out action with the hot babe later.
_ _ _
I stood there, complete in myself: whole, we talked, and I said what I thought. He did not understand, but he listened. and liked me. “I love the people,” I said. “I have room in me for love, and for ever so many little lives.” I thought, a year ago I would have been thrilled with sheer amazement, sheer joy, if I knew I would stand here with Bob and have him love me. But now I smiled with impersonal tenderness. [...] my writing, my desire to be many lives. I will be a little god in my small way. At home on my desk is my best story I’ve ever written. How can I tell Bob that my happiness streams from having wrenched a piece out of my life, a piece of hurt and beauty, and transformed it into typewritten words on paper? How can he know I am justifying my life, my keen emotion, my feeling, by turning it into print? We walked away, then, to a restaurant. I stared at one old man while I ate my hamburg. He was red-faced; sad. I concentrated hard. Man, I love you. I’m reaching out to you. I love you.
-- Sylvia Plath, The Journals 1950
_ _ _
I stood there, complete in myself: whole, we talked, and I said what I thought. He did not understand, but he listened. and liked me. “I love the people,” I said. “I have room in me for love, and for ever so many little lives.” I thought, a year ago I would have been thrilled with sheer amazement, sheer joy, if I knew I would stand here with Bob and have him love me. But now I smiled with impersonal tenderness. [...] my writing, my desire to be many lives. I will be a little god in my small way. At home on my desk is my best story I’ve ever written. How can I tell Bob that my happiness streams from having wrenched a piece out of my life, a piece of hurt and beauty, and transformed it into typewritten words on paper? How can he know I am justifying my life, my keen emotion, my feeling, by turning it into print? We walked away, then, to a restaurant. I stared at one old man while I ate my hamburg. He was red-faced; sad. I concentrated hard. Man, I love you. I’m reaching out to you. I love you.
-- Sylvia Plath, The Journals 1950
Part three of Sylvia’s date with Bob. Bob seems to be little more than an ornament for her, as she is far more in love with herself as budding artist. Not that we have to feel bad for the guy, since he will at least get to enjoy some kissy, make-out action with the hot babe later.
_ _ _
I stood there, complete in myself: whole, we talked, and I said what I thought. He did not understand, but he listened. and liked me. “I love the people,” I said. “I have room in me for love, and for ever so many little lives.” I thought, a year ago I would have been thrilled with sheer amazement, sheer joy, if I knew I would stand here with Bob and have him love me. But now I smiled with impersonal tenderness. [...] my writing, my desire to be many lives. I will be a little god in my small way. At home on my desk is my best story I’ve ever written. How can I tell Bob that my happiness streams from having wrenched a piece out of my life, a piece of hurt and beauty, and transformed it into typewritten words on paper? How can he know I am justifying my life, my keen emotion, my feeling, by turning it into print? We walked away, then, to a restaurant. I stared at one old man while I ate my hamburg. He was red-faced; sad. I concentrated hard. Man, I love you. I’m reaching out to you. I love you.
-- Sylvia Plath, The Journals 1950
_ _ _
I stood there, complete in myself: whole, we talked, and I said what I thought. He did not understand, but he listened. and liked me. “I love the people,” I said. “I have room in me for love, and for ever so many little lives.” I thought, a year ago I would have been thrilled with sheer amazement, sheer joy, if I knew I would stand here with Bob and have him love me. But now I smiled with impersonal tenderness. [...] my writing, my desire to be many lives. I will be a little god in my small way. At home on my desk is my best story I’ve ever written. How can I tell Bob that my happiness streams from having wrenched a piece out of my life, a piece of hurt and beauty, and transformed it into typewritten words on paper? How can he know I am justifying my life, my keen emotion, my feeling, by turning it into print? We walked away, then, to a restaurant. I stared at one old man while I ate my hamburg. He was red-faced; sad. I concentrated hard. Man, I love you. I’m reaching out to you. I love you.
-- Sylvia Plath, The Journals 1950
My Break with Philosophy
Mar. 27th, 2012 04:00 pm“Severe insomnia was the profound cause of my break with philosophy. I realised that in moments of great despair philosophy is no help at all, and offers absolutely no answers. So I turned to poetry and literature, where I found no answers either, but states of mind analogous to my own. I can say that my sleepless nights brought about the break with my idolatry of philosophy.”
-- E. M. Cioran
My own break with philosophy came in my middle twenties when I realized that I simply did not possess a keen enough intellect to follow very meaningfully, similiar to the way, a few years earlier, I became estranged from science when I realized that higher calculus was beyond me. Ah, but then, after too many years, I was able to find refuge in poetry and literature, where it is enough to feel enrapt over a beautiful turn of phrase, or a well-drawn character and story, or with the sympathetic struggle of trying to see meaning in an arbitrary world and an insignificant life.
-- E. M. Cioran
My own break with philosophy came in my middle twenties when I realized that I simply did not possess a keen enough intellect to follow very meaningfully, similiar to the way, a few years earlier, I became estranged from science when I realized that higher calculus was beyond me. Ah, but then, after too many years, I was able to find refuge in poetry and literature, where it is enough to feel enrapt over a beautiful turn of phrase, or a well-drawn character and story, or with the sympathetic struggle of trying to see meaning in an arbitrary world and an insignificant life.
My Break with Philosophy
Mar. 27th, 2012 04:00 pm“Severe insomnia was the profound cause of my break with philosophy. I realised that in moments of great despair philosophy is no help at all, and offers absolutely no answers. So I turned to poetry and literature, where I found no answers either, but states of mind analogous to my own. I can say that my sleepless nights brought about the break with my idolatry of philosophy.”
-- E. M. Cioran
My own break with philosophy came in my middle twenties when I realized that I simply did not possess a keen enough intellect to follow very meaningfully, similiar to the way, a few years earlier, I became estranged from science when I realized that higher calculus was beyond me. Ah, but then, after too many years, I was able to find refuge in poetry and literature, where it is enough to feel enrapt over a beautiful turn of phrase, or a well-drawn character and story, or with the sympathetic struggle of trying to see meaning in an arbitrary world and an insignificant life.
-- E. M. Cioran
My own break with philosophy came in my middle twenties when I realized that I simply did not possess a keen enough intellect to follow very meaningfully, similiar to the way, a few years earlier, I became estranged from science when I realized that higher calculus was beyond me. Ah, but then, after too many years, I was able to find refuge in poetry and literature, where it is enough to feel enrapt over a beautiful turn of phrase, or a well-drawn character and story, or with the sympathetic struggle of trying to see meaning in an arbitrary world and an insignificant life.
Our third installment of Casanova’s preface to his Memoirs.
_ _ _
The readers of these Memoirs will discover that I never had any fixed aim before my eyes, and that my system, if it can be called a system, has been to glide away unconcernedly on the stream of life, trusting to the wind wherever it led.
How many changes arise from such an independent mode of life!
My success and my misfortunes, the bright and the dark days I have gone through, everything has proved to me that in this world, either physical or moral, good comes out of evil just as well as evil comes out of good.
-- Casanova, The Memoirs
_ _ _
Yes, life can seem rather random and fortune fickle. Whether this is God’s mysterious way or just pure randomness and chance, I suppose we will never know for sure, save for faith.
_ _ _
The readers of these Memoirs will discover that I never had any fixed aim before my eyes, and that my system, if it can be called a system, has been to glide away unconcernedly on the stream of life, trusting to the wind wherever it led.
How many changes arise from such an independent mode of life!
My success and my misfortunes, the bright and the dark days I have gone through, everything has proved to me that in this world, either physical or moral, good comes out of evil just as well as evil comes out of good.
-- Casanova, The Memoirs
_ _ _
Yes, life can seem rather random and fortune fickle. Whether this is God’s mysterious way or just pure randomness and chance, I suppose we will never know for sure, save for faith.
Our third installment of Casanova’s preface to his Memoirs.
_ _ _
The readers of these Memoirs will discover that I never had any fixed aim before my eyes, and that my system, if it can be called a system, has been to glide away unconcernedly on the stream of life, trusting to the wind wherever it led.
How many changes arise from such an independent mode of life!
My success and my misfortunes, the bright and the dark days I have gone through, everything has proved to me that in this world, either physical or moral, good comes out of evil just as well as evil comes out of good.
-- Casanova, The Memoirs
_ _ _
Yes, life can seem rather random and fortune fickle. Whether this is God’s mysterious way or just pure randomness and chance, I suppose we will never know for sure, save for faith.
_ _ _
The readers of these Memoirs will discover that I never had any fixed aim before my eyes, and that my system, if it can be called a system, has been to glide away unconcernedly on the stream of life, trusting to the wind wherever it led.
How many changes arise from such an independent mode of life!
My success and my misfortunes, the bright and the dark days I have gone through, everything has proved to me that in this world, either physical or moral, good comes out of evil just as well as evil comes out of good.
-- Casanova, The Memoirs
_ _ _
Yes, life can seem rather random and fortune fickle. Whether this is God’s mysterious way or just pure randomness and chance, I suppose we will never know for sure, save for faith.
Deep Throat
Mar. 27th, 2012 10:08 pmA biopic on Linda Lovelace should be coming out soon, having finished filming. So, we are getting some buzz in the media.
_ _ _
‘When you see the movie Deep Throat, you are watching me being raped,’ she baldly told an official inquiry into the sex industry in 1986. ‘It is a crime that movie is still showing. There was a gun to my head the entire time.’
For her old friends in the business, though, she was a traitor and they sneeringly coined the term ‘Linda Syndrome’ to describe former porn stars who later try to disown their seedy careers.
But it wasn’t long before Lovelace turned on her feminist allies, too, complaining bitterly they had ‘used’ her.
‘They made a few bucks off me, just like everybody else,’ she moaned. Lovelace told friends the final insult was when Steinem did not invite her to her wedding (to David Bale, father of British actor Christian Bale). Poverty and a series of health crises blighted her later years.
-- Tom Leonard at The Daily Mail
_ _ _
‘When you see the movie Deep Throat, you are watching me being raped,’ she baldly told an official inquiry into the sex industry in 1986. ‘It is a crime that movie is still showing. There was a gun to my head the entire time.’
For her old friends in the business, though, she was a traitor and they sneeringly coined the term ‘Linda Syndrome’ to describe former porn stars who later try to disown their seedy careers.
But it wasn’t long before Lovelace turned on her feminist allies, too, complaining bitterly they had ‘used’ her.
‘They made a few bucks off me, just like everybody else,’ she moaned. Lovelace told friends the final insult was when Steinem did not invite her to her wedding (to David Bale, father of British actor Christian Bale). Poverty and a series of health crises blighted her later years.
-- Tom Leonard at The Daily Mail
Deep Throat
Mar. 27th, 2012 10:08 pmA biopic on Linda Lovelace should be coming out soon, having finished filming. So, we are getting some buzz in the media.
_ _ _
‘When you see the movie Deep Throat, you are watching me being raped,’ she baldly told an official inquiry into the sex industry in 1986. ‘It is a crime that movie is still showing. There was a gun to my head the entire time.’
For her old friends in the business, though, she was a traitor and they sneeringly coined the term ‘Linda Syndrome’ to describe former porn stars who later try to disown their seedy careers.
But it wasn’t long before Lovelace turned on her feminist allies, too, complaining bitterly they had ‘used’ her.
‘They made a few bucks off me, just like everybody else,’ she moaned. Lovelace told friends the final insult was when Steinem did not invite her to her wedding (to David Bale, father of British actor Christian Bale). Poverty and a series of health crises blighted her later years.
-- Tom Leonard at The Daily Mail
_ _ _
‘When you see the movie Deep Throat, you are watching me being raped,’ she baldly told an official inquiry into the sex industry in 1986. ‘It is a crime that movie is still showing. There was a gun to my head the entire time.’
For her old friends in the business, though, she was a traitor and they sneeringly coined the term ‘Linda Syndrome’ to describe former porn stars who later try to disown their seedy careers.
But it wasn’t long before Lovelace turned on her feminist allies, too, complaining bitterly they had ‘used’ her.
‘They made a few bucks off me, just like everybody else,’ she moaned. Lovelace told friends the final insult was when Steinem did not invite her to her wedding (to David Bale, father of British actor Christian Bale). Poverty and a series of health crises blighted her later years.
-- Tom Leonard at The Daily Mail