Le seul moyen de liberte

by Tove Ditlevsen tr. Cynthia Graae and Michael Goldman

Anxiety is old it reeks of childhood it has no object is awakened by glances, words and sudden noise lives in recurring dreams where the one you love shows the deadly hatred he hides by day.

People’s eyes are yellow they are too close together and they have no lashes over them their menacing eyebrows run endlessly together the corners of their mouths dislocate and twist, watercolor-wet do not look at them slip away from any dangerous and keen attention.

Wrap yourself in rhythms and rhymes from the old bygone songs hide with the troll and the dragon the pure evil shy away from all affection even from the child who plays with and caresses the cat shy away from his expectation his memories his blocked future.

Seek the company of those who peacefully turned away want nothing from you libraries waiting rooms railway stations people with suitcases in hand have firm contours unknown goals in a world that is not yours.

All the others are transformed under your stare as if under windswept waves they know that you see their secrets and innermost thoughts hate your lurking and waiting you do not know the day of the catastrophe approaching by the hour.

Frèdèric Forest. Saturday. 2020

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There is only one way to read, which is to browse in libraries and bookshops, picking up books that attract you, reading only those, dropping them when they bore you, skipping the parts that drag — and never, never reading anything because you feel you ought, or because it is part of a trend or a movement. Remember that the book which bores you when you are twenty or thirty will open doors for you when you are forty or fifty — and vice versa. Don’t read a book out of its right time for you.

Vincent van Gogh ~ Blossoming Chestnut Branches, 1890

Watchers in the Night :: Thomas Blackshear 1955

* * * *

"You know that things become stories about other things. Everyone I used to love lives in my mouth. I let them out when I am afraid. I am afraid. You know that everything good goes away. The great function of poetry is to give us back the situations of our dreams. Nothing is ever the way you think it’s going to be." 

-Lauren Ireland (via oofpoetry)

Crossing, 1920.a :: Photo by Drahotin Sulla

* * * *

“The only kinds of fights worth fighting are those you are going to lose, because somebody has to fight them and lose and lose and lose until someday, somebody who believes as you do wins. In order for somebody to win an important, major fight one hundred years hence, a lot of other people have got to be willing - for the sheer fun and joy of it - to go right ahead and fight, knowing you’re going to lose. You mustn’t feel like a martyr. You’ve got to enjoy it.” [I. F. Stone]

Stanley Spencer (1891-1959, British) ~ Red Magnolia, 1938

"A companion knows the unspoken pain,

The hidden tears behind the rain.

Yet still they choose to stand nearby,

Like faithful stars within the sky.

Not bound by riches, fame, or pride,

But by the warmth they hold inside.

A bond no distance can untie,

A truth that never learns to lie.

For life becomes a sweeter tune,

Beneath the stars and silver moon.

When someone walks the world with you,

A companion kind, sincere, and true."

Émile Henri Bernard (1868-1941, French) ~ Aube bleu a Venise, 1903

Artwork: ‘Freya’s Tears’ by Anne Marie Zilberman

* * * *

Your suffering needs to be respected. Don’t try to ignore the hurt, because it is real. Just let it soften you instead of hardening you. Let the hurt open you instead of closing you. Let the hurt send you looking for those who will accept you, instead of hiding from those who reject you.

~ Bryant McGill