July 2010
63 posts
“Creation seems to come out of imperfection. It seems to come out of a striving and a frustration. And this is where I think language came from. I mean, it came from our desire to transcend our isolation and have some sort of connection with one another. And it had to be easy when it was just simple survival… Like, you know, “water”. We came up with a sound for that. Or “Saber-toothed tiger right behind you”. We came up with a sound for that. But when it gets really interesting, I think, is when we use that same system of symbols to commuicate all the abstract and intangible things that we’re experiencing. What is, like, frustration? Or what is anger or love? When I say “love”, the sound comes out of my mouth and it hits the other person’s ear, travels through this Byzantine conduit in their brain, you know, throught their memories of love or lack of love, and they register what I’m saying and say yes, they understand. But how do I know they understand? Because words are inert. They’re just symbols. They’re dead, you know? And so much of our experience is intangible. So much of what we perceive cannot be expressed, it’s unspeakable. And yet, you know, when we communicate with one another, and we feel that we have connected, and we think that we’re understood, I think we have a feeling of almost spiritual communion. And that feeling might be transient, but I think it’s what we live for.”
—Waking Life (2001) (via filmlovers)
Let me begin by telling you that I was in love. →
vulpecula.tumblr.com
Let me begin by telling you that I was in love. An ordinary statement, to be sure, but not an ordinary fact, for so few of us learn that love is tenderness, and tenderness is not, as a fair proporlian suspect, pity; and still fewer know that hapiness in love is not the absolute focusing of all emotion in another: one has always to love a good many things which the beloved must come only to symbolize; the true beloveds of this world are in their lovers’s eyes lilac opening, ship lights, school bells, a landscape, remembered conversations, friends, a child’s Sunday, lost voices, one’s favourite suit, autumn and all seasons, memory, yes, it being the earth and water of existence, memory.
Other Voices, Other Rooms, 1948
Truman Capote
must do something creative.
why am i even on here?!
i hate when you're at work,
and a really attractive guy comes up to your register and is all like “hay gurl” bein all cute and such and i’m already so annoyed with life that i’m all like
with them instead of being like
and then they’re like oh…
and im all like
and realize that’s what happens every time. the end
LOL my life.
WHY OH WHY DO I KEEP SINGING JUSTIN BEIB.
I think I am done with this.
it’s all just silly.
Oh fuck. This is the worst world cup game ever.
