Un talisman, un fractal y un catalejo. @fracthales - Tumblr Blog

“It doesn’t interest me what you do for a living, I want to know what you ache for. It doesn’t interest me how old you are, I want to know if you are willing to risk looking like a fool for love, for your dreams, for the adventure of being alive. I want to know if you can live with failure, yours and mine. It doesn’t interest me where you live or how rich you are, I want to know if you can get up after a night of grief and despair, weary and bruised to the bone, and be sweet to the ones you love. I want to know if you can be alone with yourself and truly like the company you keep in the empty moments of your life.”

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fracthales

“And I began to let him go. Hour by hour. Days into months. It was a physical sensation, like letting out the string of a kite. Except that the string was coming from my center.”

— Augusten Burroughs (via quotemadness)

sadie-the-goat

Nadie trasciende. No hay futuro ni pasado. No hay otro remedio para la muerte -ni el nacimiento- que aferrarse al espacio comprendido entre ambos momentos. Vive a lo ancho, a lo alto, con estruendo.

Jim Crace. Y amanece la muerte (via sadie-the-goat)

ardor-mohr

That Dasein of Heidegger’s, in the way of what and how he thinks, what he cares or is anxious about, is certainly contemporary, European, white, and a man (a bourgeois individual). No wonder if “animals are poor in the world,” for he is the very center of that “world.” In truth, animals are happy in themselves, not poor at all.

“Happiness would be an animal condition viewed from the perspective of whatever has ceased to be animal.” (Horkheimer)

“Animals could teach us what happiness is.” (Adorno)

metaphorformetaphor

The sea takes all the fragments of my lives & grinds them home.

Erica Jong from “The Surgery of the Sea,” Becoming Light: Poems New and Selected (Open Road Media, 2013)

metaphorformetaphor

they were two of a kind and now they live elsewhere from each other or just elsewhere they live in foreign lands, in lush lands, in rich lands on both sides of a forgotten country they call there but never by its real name, never home never Home, they don’t know why I’m one of them, I am the one who called the other day the other night why do you call, he said haven’t you anything better to do but call ghosts in the middle of my summer? I’m in love, and there are a hundred thousand miles between us and six hundred and fifty two days of silence we’re not ‘there’ and never will be again, why do you call? I said, I call because I’m in the middle of winter, and the stars here have frozen in patterns you and I never saw ‘there’, and never will I call because I’m not in love unless you count ghosts, I call because I haven’t said Home in three years and fifty two days, and now that I’m at it, here is why I call we were two of a kind, and you are the other one, aren’t you still, aren’t you, but whoever you are, I’ve nothing better to do, how have you been?

— Kapka Kassabova, from “The immigrant cycle,” All Roads Lead to the Sea (Auckland University Press, 1997)

Isn't it wonderful to be alive? You know, you can forget all about it. Then suddenly you remember, and think of all the things you can do. Here I am. I can walk around. I can talk. I can see things and remember things. I am alive. How wonderful!