Tag Archives: literature

Not even for nothing*

leclezio4460

Triumph of pain – treachery of the eyes, the ears, the skin. One has to trudge through this desert all one’s life. To see and to hear. To hear and see. To eat. To laugh. To talk, smoke, drink. To feel. To procreate. To write. To breathe. To be in pain. To bleed, to tremble. To be angry. To suffer. To cry out, to sleep, to wait. Fatigue is everywhere. There is no way, really no way of avoiding it. One has to toil, to feel hot, to feel cold. To caress. To enjoy. To understand, to understand without pause. Every day. Like that, every day, without exception. To urinate. To taste. To let oneself be carried away by useless words. To adopt paces and habits. To seek for phrases, to stretch one’s ears and eyes, to stretch one’s skin. To pretend to love, to love really, perhaps. All that, not even for nothing; for it’s not even possible to resort to nothingness so as to determine one’s life; man is not alone; vulgar, garish things inhabit him, shape him. There’s no way of judging. There is no absurdity, for there is not even any separation between what is and what ought to be. God, if he exists, must be left in full control: never, no, never, shall we really know what a little worm man is.

*The text above is taken from the story “A day of old age” written by J.M.G. Le Clezio.

 

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And then arrived reality

wind-fallen-trees-1887

And then arrived reality.
From deep slumber she disturbed me.
Now I see, there is no god.
Reality is much more odd.

And then arrived reality
in all her beauty and brutality.
I greet her with a hug and kiss.
She smiles and says: what is amiss?

And then arrived reality
reminding me of life’s finality.
She put her hands on my eyes
and said: each life one day dies.

And then arrived reality
coupled with illness and agony.
I cried and prayed: Please go away.
But she replied: I came to stay.

And then arrived reality
without gods and morality.
She doesn’t mind to be ignored.
She walks slow, on her own accord.

And then arrived reality
restoring things to normality.
All fears and hopes she swept away.
I trust in her. Let come what may.

*Painting – “Wind Fallen Trees” by Ivan Shishkin, 1886.

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Pretend I’m lost, then come and find me

Hieronymus_Bosch_051 conjurer

Pretend I’m lost, then come and find me.
Pretend I’m hungry, then come and feed me.
Pretend I’m ill, then come and heal me.
Pretend I’m honest, then come and deceive me.
Pretend I’m wise, then come and fool me.
Pretend I’m strong, then come and defeat me.
Pretend I’m wealthy, then come and rob me.
Pretend I’m amusing, then come and ignore me.
Pretend I’m guilty, then come and forgive me.
Pretend I’m filthy, then come and cleanse me.
Pretend I’m pretty, then come and love me.
Pretend I’m holy, then come and adore me.
Pretend I’m charming, then come and please me.
Pretend I’m noble, then come and serve me.
Pretend I’m tranquil, then come and disturb me.
Pretend I’m austere, then come and tease me.
Pretend I’m lonely, then come and approach me.
Pretend I’m alluring, then come and seduce me.
Pretend I’m angry, then come and appease me.
Pretend I’m worried, then come and console me.
Pretend I’m dead and say something nice.

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Go fuck yourself I say to the cold weather

rough-seas-1885

Go fuck yourself I say to the cold weather.
Go fuck yourself I say to the stubborn river.
Go fuck yourself I say to the erupting volcano.
Go fuck yourself I say to the rain and thunder.
Go fuck yourself I say to the raging fire.
Go fuck yourself I say to the standing tree and sleeping flower.
Go fuck yourself I say to the forest and nature.
Go fuck yourself I say to the park and the jungle.
Go fuck yourself I say to the village and the city.
Go fuck yourself I say to the cloud and current.
Go fuck yourself I say to the storm and torrent.
Go fuck yourself I say to the desert and winter.
Go fuck yourself I say to the wind and shadow.
Go fuck yourself I say to the sun and the moon.
Go fuck yourself I say to the cave and valley.
Go fuck yourself I say to the street and alley.
Go fuck yourself I say to the mountain and the flood.
Go fuck yourself I say to the pyramid and tower.
Go fuck yourself I say to the bridge and tunnel.
Go fuck yourself I say to the wave and stone.
Go fuck yourself I say to the seed and grain.
Go fuck yourself I say to the sand and fog.
Go fuck yourself I say to the tomb and monument.
Go fuck yourself I say to the coal and ashes.
And to those not mentioned, I say:
Get out and hang yourself.

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A dance in a step and a song in a note

Valentin_de_Boulogne_-_Musician_and_Drinkers
I am a dance in a step
and a song in a note.
I am a book in a word
and a poem in a verse.
I am alphabet in a letter
and infinity in a number.
I am a machine in a ghost
and a shell in a pearl. Continue reading

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Man is to me as the red spider is to the elephant*

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  • Men have nothing in common with me – there is no point of contact; they have foolish little feelings and foolish little vanities and impertinences and ambitions: their foolish little life is but a laugh, a sigh, and extinction; and they have no sense….I will show you what I mean. Here is a red spider, not so big as a pin’s head. Can you imagine an elephant being interested in him – caring whether he is happy or isn’t, or whether he is wealthy or poor, or whether his sweetheart returns his love or not, or whether his mother is sick or well, or whether he is looked up to in society or not, or whether his enemies will smite him or his friends desert him, or whether his hopes will suffer blight or his political ambitions fail, or whether he shall die in the bosom of his family or neglected and despised in a foreign land? These things can never be important to the elephant; they are nothing to him; he cannot shrink his sympathies to the microscopic size of them. Man is to me as the red spider is to the elephant.

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Such love as this

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Today I started reading Franklin Foer‘s book “How Soccer explains the World: An unlikely theory of globalization“. When I opened the front cover, I saw this…   Continue reading

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