HOUSE OF LEAVES STARTERS / PROMPTS
maturity, one discovers, has everything to do with the acceptance of not knowing.
we all create stories to protect ourselves.
here then at long last is my darkness. no cry of light, no glimmer, not even the faintest shard of hope to break free across the hold.
i still get nightmares. in fact, i get them so often i should be used to them by now. i’m not. no one ever really gets used to nightmares.
love of love written by the broken hearted, love of life written by the dead.
passion has little to do with euphoria and everything to do with patience. it is not about feeling good. it is about endurance.
little solace comes to those who grieve when thoughts keep drifting as walls keep shifting and this great blue world of ours seems a house of leaves moments before the wind.
losing the possibility of something is the exact same thing as losing hope and without hope nothing can survive.
like patience, passion comes from the same latin root: pati. it does not mean to flow with exuberance. it means to suffer.
the greatest of love letters are always coded for the one and not the many.
for some reason, you will no longer be the person you believed you once were. you’ll detect slow and subtle shifts going on all around you, more importantly shifts in you.
it seems that 'to fit' the world or to make sense of it requires either reason or arms.
you do not work, you do not read, you do not daydream. if you sleep it is not because you need to sleep. and when at last it is over, there is no evidence: no weapon, no blood, and no body.
the mind is a labyrinth, and the soul is forever lost within its depths.
why did god create a dual universe? so he might say 'be not like me, i am alone'. and it might be heard.
it might be a mistake but fuck it, it's mine.
the house is ¼th" bigger in the inside.
this is not for you.
some people reflect light, some people deflect it; you, by some miracle, seem to collect it.
explanation is not half as strong as experience but experience is not half as strong as experience and understanding.
known. some. call. is. air. am. / 'non sum qualis eram'. / i am not what i used to be.
'non enim videbit me homo et vivet.' / whoever sees god dies.
picture that. in your dreams.
prometheus, thief of light, giver of light, bound by the gods, must have been a book.
god's a house. which is not to say that our house is god's house or even a house of god. what i mean to say is that our house is god.
scars are the paler pain of survival received unwillingly and displayed in the language of injury.
sublime is something you choke on after a shot of tequila.
𓈓⠀⠀⠀and there you have it, another body on the floor surrounded by things that don't mean much to anyone except to the one who can't take any of them along.
what miracle is this? this giant tree. it stands ten thousand feet high but doesn't reach the ground. still it stands. its roots must hold the sky.
and where there is no echo there is no description of space or love. there is only silence.
the ruminations are mine, let the world be yours.
make no mistake, those who write long books have nothing to say. of course those who write short books have even less to say.
