in the middle of my picture

'into the fire, I'll reunite'

mother always told me not to torture myself with thoughts about stuff that's not up to me
but I can't help getting obsessed with keeping up the fire
that burns totally on its own.
I want to feed the fire.
take me.

desired constellations

what if that person didn't come to your life to see you, but just happened to be passing by. maybe in your perspective the lines and the angles constitute a frame in which things are clear. you speak one language and you look each other right in the eye. but you're not the master of the constellation. neither of you is. it's not up to you. there are those inevitable natural laws you have to adjust to. according to them, if your chain and hers aren't complementary, it just won't work.
no matter how much it makes you tremble.
no matter how well she responds to your yearning.
and they call science a perfect kingdom. ridiculous, now isn't it.
do we dare to bend the rules of time and space. to bow to each other's demands. now do we.
does the happy ever after make the game worth the candle. now does it.

fireworks down at the waterfront

"Whatever it is that hurls you past the boundaries of your own life into a brief and total beauty, even for a moment, it is enough."

[Jeanette Winterson, Gut Symmetries]

"I'm not going to die. I'm going to live forever until one day I'll wake up and I'll be a turtle."

scary, monstrous, when I say, hey mom, you remember that girl, well, she's sick, kind of, she's really not doing well, and then she goes
yes, I know
I already noticed it before.
all of it with my sister present, whose resignation and constant giving in have been long leading her in the same glum direction.
yes, we all know that. impossible not to notice. no, there's nothing we could do about it. cause what could it be.
because, really, everybody is left to themselves. and really, everyone generates their own driving force, gives it its final shape and tinge. totally by themselves.
it is not bad news. it's an obligation to act.

the marry-christmas-and-happy-new-year formula is not really something I'd put in my discourse, but. I do wish for the world to have fun this time of year. so, like Grace Stalker used to say to her lovely turtles: go, play.

give priority. to yourself

make them treat you right
it's an absolute prerequisite
yet how easy to forget.

there's no
meaning something else than what it says
waiting for better days from the very beginning
or giving more time for the respect to come.

the nature of prerequisites
is that they come first.

"The Happiness Culture doesn't help"

"Listen, I am not into pain for its own sake. (...) And like everyone else, it is easier for one horrid thing in the day to knock me over, rather than for 3 nice things in the day to have the same kind of impact.
But maybe that is because the horrid things act like a sponge for all the pressed down upsets that we can't look at – and if we could look at them and live with them a little bit more, maybe the knocks of the day wouldn't be so hard, because they wouldn't be attracting the other stuff buried in there.
For myself, I hate feeling dreadful feelings. As a solution-based person I am always asking myself ‘What can I do about X?’ But that isn't the right question – not straight away – not for the real stuff. Sitting with feeling is just awful, but it does help the feeling to form, and then it helps us to understand it.
Later, there will have to be a solution. But a solution too early just seals in the problem at a deeper level."

Jeanette Winterson

[read the whole article here]

"Cold was master. Heat was servant."

let's go through it all yet again. Thursday falls right on you, what a stabbing surprise. in your head you recall each of the sentences you heard, waiting 'till some time round you'll finally get it and understand what makes people behave like carefully calculated pigs that you let in your place and feed with warmth. this mantra puts you to sleep and when you wake up it's already the day after, then one or two more and you drag yourself out of it and watch the winter sun spots move on the calendar squares, you drift further and further from that Thursday, which will soon become just one of countless days, a moment when something happened, but you can't remember exactly what it was. you wait for the anger to come, a healthy sign of recovery. eventually, a big fat chunk of time accumulates, separating you from the events, making you unsure of what it was all about. so sit, wait for the water to drip, for the sea to fill up again.

when I say what I think of people and interpersonal relations, I'm asked, whether it's really something I believe in. so, what, am I supposed to lower my standards? oh, no, you just wait, search for poeple of the same beliefs. how much pitifulness in their words. for each utterance of theirs, one bottle of wine and one pack of cigarettes for my part. that's my dialogue with the world. because winter and I, well, we really hate each other.

The day I was born.
It was a cold snowy winter New York. Cold was master. Heat was servant. Cold landlorded it in every tenement block, pushing the heat into smaller and smaller corners, throwing the heat out onto the streets where it disappeared in freezes of steam.
J. Winterson, Gut Symmetries

some new project

today, early in the morning, I said that what I needed was stability.
what I was offered, was irregular, destabilized certainty.
I'm sitting and watching loads of snow my neighbor pushes off their balcony. hypnotizing.
a fine, fine piece of December I have.