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I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked.
One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out.
I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.
posted by The Lonely Joker who stares too deeply & too much at 5:16 AM
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A man cannot afford to be fearful. Terrified at being terrified, he becomes fearless.-Ninotchka Rosca
posted by The Lonely Joker who stares too deeply & too much at 3:50 AM
The Lonely Joker who stares too deeply & too much at 3:50 AM0 Comments:
Friday, September 16, 2005
How can you not believe in God?
posted by The Lonely Joker who stares too deeply & too much at 5:35 AM
The Lonely Joker who stares too deeply & too much at 5:35 AM0 Comments:
And indeed there will be timeTo wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
[They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”]
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
[They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”]
Do I dare
Disturb the universe?
In a minute there is time
For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.
For I have known them all already, known them all:—
Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,
I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;
I know the voices dying with a dying fall
Beneath the music from a farther room.
So how should I presume?
And I have known the eyes already, known them all—
The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,
And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,
When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,
Then how should I begin
To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?
And how should I presume?
And I have known the arms already, known them all—
Arms that are braceleted and white and bare
[But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!]
It is perfume from a dress
That makes me so digress?
Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.
And should I then presume?
And how should I begin?
And would it have been worth it, after all,
Would it have been worth while,
After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets,
After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor—
And this, and so much more?—
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen:
Would it have been worth while
If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl,
And turning toward the window, should say:
“That is not it at all,
That is not what I meant, at all.”
. . . . .
No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse;
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach.
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.
I do not think that they will sing to me.
I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.
We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.
posted by The Lonely Joker who stares too deeply & too much at 5:29 AM
The Lonely Joker who stares too deeply & too much at 5:29 AM0 Comments:
Friday, September 02, 2005
I don't know which feeling gives me more anxiety.Feeling ENVY
or
Feeling GUILTY
However happy I feel for the team's having beaten ATENEO, I could not help but feel, or rather wish, that I was part of that.
There are no regrets. I just have to get used to not feeling the same amount of happiness, or the same amount of sadness over games perhaps lost or won.
For a long time, basketball was the only thing that made me feel REAL.
For a long time hence, I will feel like I am indistinct.
posted by The Lonely Joker who stares too deeply & too much at 5:13 AM
The Lonely Joker who stares too deeply & too much at 5:13 AM0 Comments: