Playing
Tom Waits
NIGHTHAWKS AT THE DINER
EMIL CIORAN
In every man sleeps a prophet, and when he wakes there is a little more evil in the world.
RAY BRADBURY
Fahrenheit 451
If you don't want a man unhappy politically, don't give him two sides to a question to worry him; give him one. Better yet, give him none. Let him forget there is such a thing as war. If the government is inefficient, top-heavy, and tax-mad, better it be all those than that people worry over it. Peace, Montag. Give the people contests they win by remembering the words to more popular songs or the names of state capitals or how much corn Iowa grew last year. Cram them full of noncombustible data, chock them so damned full of 'facts' they feel stuffed, but absolutely 'brilliant' with information. Then they'll feel they're thinking, they'll get a sense of motion without moving. And they'll be happy, because facts of that sort don't change.
SLAVOJ ŽIŽEK
Sex and the Failed Absolute
Trump's twisted 'greatness' is that he effectively acts - he is not afraid to break the unwritten (and written) rules to impose his decisions. As we learned (not only) from Hegel, our life is regulated by a thick web of written and unwritten rules, rules which teach us how to practice the explicit (written) rules. While Trump (more or less) sticks to explicit legal regulations, he tends to ignore the unwritten silent pacts which determine how we should practice these rules - the way he dealt with Kavanaugh was just one example of it.
Instead of just blaming Trump, the Left should learn from him and do the same. When a situation demands it, we should shamelessly do the impossible and break the unwritten rules. Unfortunately, today's Left is in advance terrified of any radical acts - even when it is in power, it worries all the time:'If we do this, how will the worlds react? Will our acts cause panic?' Ultimately, this fear means: 'Will our enemies be mad and react?' In order to act in politics, one has to overcome this fear and assume the risk, make a step into the unknown.
TOVE DITLEVSEN
"Divorce 1"
He would
in case of divorce
lay claim to half
of everything
he said.
Half a sofa,
half a TV,
half a summerhouse
half a pound of butter
half a child.
The apartment was his
he said
because it was in his name.
The thing was
he loved her.
She loved another
whose wife would
lay claim to half
of everything.
So the marriage act stated.
As clearly as
two and two makes four.
The solicitor
said so too.
She broke half of everything
and ripped the tax bill apart.
Then she left for
the women’s shelter on Jagtvej
with half a child.
The child was teased at school
because he only had
one ear.
Other than that,
this life too
was bearable
since things couldn’t be
any different.
-
Translated from the Danish by Sophia Hersi Smith and Jennifer Russell
LI BAN
"Drinking Alone with the Moon"
A tankard of wine in the midst of some flowers
I drank alone, no one was with me
Raising my cup, asking the bright moon
Bring me my shadow let us be three.
Alas, the moon couldn’t drink,
And my shadow stared at my vacantly.
Still, for a while, I had these two friends,
To cheer me up as Spring was ending.
On the spot, I composed a poem, the moon encouraged me,
I got up and danced, my shadow stumbled along.
All along, we two bosom companions.
Finally drunk, it was then I lost him.
Eternally tied, lacking emotion, one wanders,
We two for a time watching the Starry River.
TED GREENWALD
"Staring Doesn’t Help"
Staring doesn’t help
Nor does running around
Music doesn’t help
Especially songs
Getting together doesn’t help
Nor does staying apart
Seeing someone else doesn’t
Nor does seeing you
Sleeping doesn’t help
Nor does waking
Dreaming doesn’t help
Nor do any facts
Running doesn’t help
Nor does sitting around
Playing
Ludwig van Beethoven
STRING QUARTET NO. 11 IN F MINOR, OP. 95
STRING QUARTET NO. 9 IN C MAJOR, OP. 59/3
Borodin String Quartet
MARY OLIVER
Upstream
Through these woods I have walked thousands of times. For many years I felt more at home here than anywhere else, including our own house. Stepping out into the world, into the grass, onto the path, was always a kind of relief. I was not escaping anything. I was returning to the arena of delight.
LIU ZONGYUAN
"River Snow"
A thousand mountains, not a bird in sight
Ten thousand paths, not a human track
Alone in a boat, wearing a straw cape and hat, an old man sits
Fishing alone, in the winter snow
CHRISTOPHER ISHERWOOD
A Single Man
Waking up begins with saying am and now. That which has awoken then lies for a while staring up at the ceiling and down into itself until it has recognized I, and therefrom deduced I am, I am now. Here comes next, and is at least negatively reassuring; because here, this morning, is where it has expected to find itself: what’s called at home.
ROBERTO BOLAÑO
2666
He had a little single-story house, three bedrooms, a full bathroom and a half bathroom, a combined kitchen-living room-dining room with windows that faced west, a small brick porch where there was a wooden bench worn by the wind that came down from the mountains and the sea, the wind from the north, the wind through the gaps, the wind that smelled like smoke and came from the south.
He had books he'd kept for more than twenty-five years. Not many. All of them old. He had books he'd bought in the last ten years, books he didn't mind lending, books that could've been lost or stolen for all he cared. He had books that he sometimes received neatly packaged and with unfamiliar return addresses, books he didn't even open anymore. He had a yard perfect for growing grass and planting flowers, but he didn't know what flowers would do best there--flowers, as opposed to cacti or succulents. There would be time (so he thought) for gardening.
He had a wooden gate that needed a coat of paint. He had a monthly salary.
ITALO CALVINO
If on a Winter's Night a Traveler
Your house, being the place in which you read, can tell us the position books occupy in your life, if they are a defense you set up to keep the outside world at a distance, if they are a dream into which you sink as if into a drug, or bridges you cast toward the outside, toward the world that interests you so much that you want to multiply and extend its dimensions through books.