I cannot stand this hell I feel
Life, it seems, will fade away
Drifting further, every day
Getting lost within myself
Nothing matters, no one else
I have lost the will to live
Simply nothing more to give
There is nothing more for me
Need the end to set me free..
youtu.be/9HZ_tx8aWuA?si=...
Denji: Just when life seems super awesome, as soon as you let your guard down, some crappy thing happens outta nowhere and screws it all up, right?! You know life isn't all bad... But day in, day out all you can remember is the bad stuff and the disasters keep pilin' up like a hamburger made of crap, right?
"Perhaps the clearest and most certain thing that can be said about postmodernism is that it is a very unclear and very much contested concept. Celebrated by some as a new wave of emancipation from the stifling constraints of modern ideologies that have grown stagnantly conservative and elitist, postmodernism is conversely con- demned for confining us in its own prison-house of conservatism for encouraging an attitude of slackening by its scepticism regarding the notions of progress and originality, by its advocacy of appropriation and recycling, and by its ideology of the end of ideology. But the controversy over postmodernism goes well beyond the question of its value. Its very meaning, scope, and character are so vague, ambiguous, and deeply contested that it has been challenged as a pernicious, illegitimate non concept. Advocates reply that the concept's very vagueness usefully challenges the view that concepts must be clear to be meaningful, fruitful, and important.
How exactly we determine the legitimacy of a concept is a fascinating question in itself. Is conceptual legitimacy a matter of logical coherence, reference to the real, entrenched usage, practical utility? In any case, the concept of postmodernism seems, for the moment, to be adequately vindicated by the profusion of scholarly work that is dedicated to its clarification and elaboration in the various arts and other forms of cultural production since the latter part of the twentieth century."
Çalmadığı bir bedenim kaldı diyor, adamı da diyor ki satsan onu da alır :D
"And you know that fellow who bought all the furniturw! He was buying for Farfrae, it seems!"
"My furniture too! Why he'll have my body next!"
"Perhaps he will, if you're ready to sell."
Sayfa 67Kitabı okudu
Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. With us it ambled, trotted, and galloped all through October. (It never stood still until the morning of November the twenty-second, and it seems, to me at least, that it hasn’t really moved since then.)
Scene 11Kitabı okuyor
"It is true: we love life not because we are accustomed to life but because we are accustomed to love.
There is always some madness in love. But there is also always some reason in madness.
And even to me, one who likes life, it seems butterflies and soap bubbles and whatever is of their kind among human beings know most about happiness."
On Reading and WritingKitabı okuyor
“So he was sick? Like he got hurt? Welcome to the world, mofo. It hurts a lot, and dying slowly seems to be our fucking job here.”
“No,” I said. “Seems like just yesterday my dad was shouting at me for throwing my life away.”
Alexander snorted. “What was it he said to you?”
“‘You’re going to turn down a scholarship at Case Western and spend the next four years in makeup and panty hose, making love to some girl through a window?’”
“Art school” alone was enough to provoke my rigidly practical father, but more often than not Dellecher’s dangerous exclusivity was the cause of raised eyebrows. Why should intelligent, talented students risk forcible ejection from their school at the end of each year and graduate without even a traditional degree to show for their survival? What most people who lived outside the strange sphere of conservatory education didn’t realize was that a Dellecher certificate was like one of Willy Wonka’s golden tickets—guaranteed to grant the bearer admission to the elite artistic and philological sodalities that survived outside of academia.
Scene 4Kitabı okuyor
“ Cycles exist because they are excruciating to break. It takes an astronomical amount of pain and courage to disrupt a familiar pattern. Sometimes it seems easier to just keep running in the same familiar circles, rather than facing the fear of jumping and possibly not landing on your feet.
My mother went through it.
I went through it.
I’ll be damned if I allow my daughter to go through it.
I kiss her on the forehead and make her a promise. “It stops here. With me and you. It ends with us. "
Sayfa 360 - LilyKitabı okudu
Here we go :D
Do you want to be my slave?"
"There is no equality in love," I replied solemnly.
"Whenever it is a matter of choice for me of ruling or being ruled, it seems much more satisfactory to me to be the slave of a beautiful woman. But where shall I find the woman who knows how to rule, calmly, full of self-confidence, even harshly, and not seek to gain her power by means of petty nagging?"
"Oh, that might not be so difficult." "You think—" "I—for instance—" she laughed and leaned far back —"I have a real talent for despotism—I also have the neces-sary furs—but last night you were really seriously afraid of me!"
She is there—Venus—but without furs—No, this time it is merely the widow—and yet—Venus-oh, what a woman!
As she stands there in her light white morning gown, looking at me, her slight figure seems full of poetry and grace. She is neither large, nor small; her head is alluring, piquant—in the sense of the period of the French marquises —rather than formally beautiful. What enchantment and softness, what roguish charm play about her none too small mouth! Her skin is so infinitely delicate, that the blue veins show through everywhere; even through the muslin covering her arms and bosom. How abundant her red hair-it is red, not blonde or golden-yellow—how diabolically and yet tenderly it plays around her neck! Now her eyes meet mine like green lightnings—they are green, these eyes of hers, whose power is so indescribable—green, but as are precious stones, or deep unfathomable mountain lakes.
She observes my confusion, which has even made me discourteous, for I have remained seated and still have my cap on my head.
She smiles roguishly.
Great Galileo was debarred the sun,
Because he fixed it, and to stop his talking
How earth could round the solar orbit run,
Found his own legs embargoed from mere walking.
The man was well nigh dead, ere men begun
To think his skull had not some need of caulking,
But now it seems he’s right, his notion just,
No doubt a consolation to his dust.
Quora
Postmodernism is an intellectual dead end; it’s central premise seems to be derived from a saying of Nietzsche’s, “There are no facts; only interpretations”, which is thought to mean that each one of us views “reality” through our individual perspective. This is true to a degree, but as with so many aphorisms, there are limits to its validity;
Ode to nightingale
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
But being too happy in thine happiness,—
That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
Everything always seems impossible until it's over.
Thou that art now the world’s fresh ornament
And only herald to the gaudy spring,
Within thine own bud buriest thy content,
And, tender churl, mak’st waste in niggarding.
Pity the world, or else this glutton be,
To eat the world’s due, by the grave and thee.
Sonnet 1
