The Great Panda has spoken

The Great Panda is fond of panda cubs, quokkas, food, tea and emotional crap... The Great Panda plans to post its favourite emotional crap on this blog; some of it will be original, some of it will be cited from its favourite authors and the lovely anonymous people of the internet. Only time will show us if The Great Panda posts anything at all as its favourite activity is procrastination.

[thegreatpandahasspoken]

Snippets from conversations with boys I’ve loved in one way or another part I

“It hurts.” “That sounds unrealistic.” “You must be mentally weak if that tires you.” “I don’t love you.” “So? I don’t love you either.” “You are very sweet.” “It hurts.” “You’re so sensitive.” “Am I hurting you?” “No, it’s alright.”

“Something must have happened to you when you were a child.”

“Nah, don’t worry. It’s normal.” “Maybe – when I get back – we can see each other again?” “Sure.” “As friends if that’s OK?” “Sure.” “Are you sure?” “Yes.”

[thegreatpandahasspoken]

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.

Lolita, Vladimir Nabokov

[thegreatpandahasspoken]

Fighting together for twelve years, they never knew Mulan was a girl. Male hares like to kick and stomp, female hares have eyes misty and glazed. But if the hares are running side-by-side, who can tell which is he or she?

[thegreatpandahasspoken]

But one day they hear a voice on the radio reading a poem, or they pass by a house with an open window where someone is playing the piano, or they see a poster of a particular painting on someone’s wall, and it strikes them a blow so hard and yet so gentle that they feel dizzy. Nothing prepared them for this. They suddenly realise that they’re filled with a hunger, though they had no idea of that just a minute ago; a hunger for something so sweet and so delicious that it almost breaks their heart. They almost cry, they feel sad and happy and alone and welcomed by this utterly new and strange experience, and they’re desperate to listen closer to the radio, they linger outside the window, they can’t take their eyes off the poster. They wanted this, they needed this as a starving person needs food, and they never knew. They had no idea.

Philip Pullman

[thegreatpandahasspoken]

It’s a curious little thing, her heart, and not much bigger than her fist. What a wonder! A wonder! - The Great Panda has spoken

[thegreatpandahasspoken]

[thegreatpandahasspoken]

Lesson II

’You’re one of my closest friends’, you said and pushed me over the edge and as I fell, I succumbed to the embrace of anger and vengefulness remembering that words don’t actually mean a thing. They are nothing but vowels and consonants produced with the intention to feed other people empty promises and lies. It is a lesson I learned a long time ago. How could I forget? Consonants and vowels. - The Great Panda has spoken

[thegreatpandahasspoken]

His soul swooned softly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

James Joyce, The Dead (via thegreatpandahasspoken)

[thegreatpandahasspoken]

Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things.

T. S. Eliot, Tradition and The Individual Talent.

[thegreatpandahasspoken]

Fancy as Fuck Friday

Wine edition

[thegreatpandahasspoken]

His soul swooned softly as he heard the snow falling faintly through the universe and faintly falling, like the descent of their last end, upon all the living and the dead.

James Joyce, The Dead

[thegreatpandahasspoken]

Fancy as Fuck Friday

[thegreatpandahasspoken]

I want to maintain that after a hundred years of romanticism, we are in for a classical revival, and that the particular weapon of this new classical spirit, when it works in verse, will be fancy.

T. E. Hulme 

[thegreatpandahasspoken]

He was my North, my South, my East and West, My working week and my Sunday rest, My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song; I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.

W. H. Auden, Stop all the Clocks/ Funeral Blues

[thegreatpandahasspoken]

[thegreatpandahasspoken]

Fancy as Fuck Friday

Crushing hard on Fei Fei Sun.

[thegreatpandahasspoken]

She never knew how much she hated him until she saw him with her.