Moi, poupée - Une jeune fille à la page (Johannes Gros) Eau-forte pour l'édition de 1930
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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
Not today Justin

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Andulka
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EXPECTATIONS
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
trying on a metaphor

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Moi, poupée - Une jeune fille à la page (Johannes Gros) Eau-forte pour l'édition de 1930
Their friendship was not just one of convenience between two quiet, solitary men with few other options, it was a pact. A pact to resist the vortex of busyness and insensitivity that had engulfed the rest of the world. It was a pact of simplicity, which stood against the forces of competiveness and noise. The only problem was that Leonard had discovered a flaw in their way of life. It was fine so long as everything else stayed the same. With a stable home and work life, a life of depth and meaning, it was certainly possible to preserve a sanctuary of gentleness through their special friendship. But once life changed, once the people in your life started slipping away from you, as inevitably happens, then north, south, wast and west all move from their fixed points on the compass. You are left bereft, with a choice of wheter to ENTER the world, with all the risks that entails, or retreating from it. Leonard's natural instinct was to retreat and to create a safe bubble. But the bubble feeds on itself. Solitude and peace lose their specialness when they no longer stand in contrast to anything. In a busy - or at least BUSIER - life, quiet reflection provides resonance to experience. But to deprive life of experiences deliberately and to hide from its realities was not special. It was just another form of fear that led to a life-limiting loneliness that accumulated and accumulated until it became so big that it blocked up the front door, drowned out conversations and put other people behind soundproof glass. And anyway, Leonard was discovering that distancing himself from people didn't even bring peace. The more he separated himself from others, the more they become unfathomable and perplexing. The distance just made him lose perspective. If he wasn't careful he could turn vinegary and judgemental, like that man he used to see in the supermarket, muttering to himself with egg down the front of his jumper. In fact, he had discovered that he was less critical of people when he allowed them in. People, it turn out, weren't so bad. At least that was true of some people. And maybe that was the trick: to find the right people; to be able to recognise them and to know how to appreciate them when you do find them.
Rónán Hession, Leonard and Hungry Paul
Florin Ion Firimitã, The Bookstore Project series, 2012~2015
Utopia s01e01 - “Episode 1″
I exist, that is all, and I find it nauseating.
Jean-Paul Sartre, Nausea
Remember when the lights dim down It’s only the dark
Only the Dark, K.Flay
This Is England '86 s01e01 - “Episode 1″
This Is England (2006), Shane Meadows
“I sometimes feel as though I were carrying such weights of lead that I must at any moment be dragged down into the deepest sea and the person trying to seize or even ‘rescue’ me would give up, not from weakness, not even from hopelessness but from sheer annoyance.”
— Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena
New Girl s02e04 - “Neighbors”
Martha Plimpton
in Raising Hope s03e16 - “Yo Zappa Do (Part 2)”
and, at 15,
in The Goonies (1985), produced by Steven Spielberg
Arvid Johanson (1862 - 1923) - Untitled. Oil on canvas.
Celebrate if you will The triumph of your genes: The past is working still —That is all that it means. In every spoken word, Always, the past is heard. Perhaps silence is best, But if there must be speech, Then watch it closely, lest It stretches out of reach. The future is too far: The past is all we are.
C.H. Sisson, In the Silence
Bob Dylan in Dont Look Back (1967), D.A. Pennebaker
I think about what Beth said. 'Don't feel guilty', she said. 'Nothing good comes of guilt.' She said it after I admitted how frightened I am that all this stupid sadness is chewing at my intellect. 'It's time to let this go,' she said. She meant: It's time to postpone - if not entirely abandon - my burden of unrealistic ambition. To start churning the intellect I have left into simply feeling better; to make this my highest goal. It's time to accept that I am average, and to stop making this acceptance of my averageness into bereavement. (...) And yet, here I am. Perceiving everything that is wonderful to be proportionately difficult; everything that is possible an elaborate battle to achieve. My happy life was never enough for me. I always considered my time to be more precious than that of other people and almost every routine pursuit - equitable employment, domestic chores, friendship - unworthy of it. Now I see how this rebellion against ordinary happiness is the greatest vanity of them all.
Sara Baume, A Line Made by Walking