#interview with the vampire#iwtv#amc tvl#sam reid#jacob anderson
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Elements
When we attempted fire we were stubbornin carparks making amends with our rings on our tongues out I could tell you how I got here but I am instead intenton telling you how I am planning to leave the fire is onlyone way out when we attempted earth we failedthe landscape held my heel like a moor victim until I heard onlya lecture about how you were the victim how your motherburned…
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As a lover, I want you to stay so I can make you come. As a poet, I want you to leave so the words will come
Probably K. Thomas Khan
I’d like to think that I can navigate the garden without the aid of a global-positioning system app, without holding my phone out to serve as compass or idiotic talisman, my own delusional weathervane. I’d like to think that I can remain in the emotional state two hours of chanting in the company of strangers affords me without whitewashing the walls, so that a mere ten minutes later I’ve forgotten the drone and the strange camaraderie unknown voices can lend when blended together in a dissonant kind of unison. But I keep diving back into the screen as if there were some answer to be found by swiping my finger across its face, as if the now universal motion of swiping left for “no” and right for “yes” has somehow become embedded in my unconscious, despite my better attempts to keep such a despotic wolf at bay.
K. Thomas Kahn, To Gethsemane, Published in Berfrois
Often, in an emotional relationship, to be articulate is to be in some degree destructive.
Betty Miller, On the Side of the Angels
A distich by Joseph Brodsky. (via)
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“… sometimes blocked in, sometimes reaching out, one moment your life is a stone in you, the next a star.”
Rainer.M.Rilke...from ``Sunset``
proust
i've vowed to read it now this year.
probably have to do it away from the goodreads group, however, for unspecified reasons
Burn Your Own.
British publisher Frederic Warburg (who published English editions of Kafka's novels during the heavy bombing of London in World War II) mentions in his book "All Authors are Equal" (he was also George Orwell's publisher) an anecdote involving Brod, Kafka and their manuscripts. He attributes this story ("for whose authenticity I do not vouch") to Hannah Arendt, but does not provide a source. In it, Brod is strolling down a Prague street, a few days after Kafka's death, and meets a literary editor ("Let's call him Rudi," writes Warburg):
Rudi: "You look sad, Max, indeed we are all sad at the shocking news of poor Kafka's death."
Max: "... my friend Franz placed on my shoulders a heavy burden. Franz has given me instructions that I am to burn all his unpublished work, all of it."
Rudi: "Well, you must burn it, then, as Franz wishes."
Max: "It is not so easy, my friend. I have read his work, his novels and stories, all of it. These are masterpieces. How can I burn them?"
Rudi: "Masterpieces, you say. Then you must not burn them, Max. You must have them published."
Max: "Against dear Franz's wishes, Rudi?"
Rudi (thinks hard, then in an emphatic voice): "I have it, Max. Publish Franz's work and burn all your own."
h/t Proustitute (https://twitter.com/proustitute)
