June 15, 2014
I like her. She makes life interesting. She, herself, is interesting, I suppose. She talks right from the heart. I appreciate her frankness and I like the fact that she doesn’t force the natural flow of a conversation. There’s personality in her words. She thus gets to the core of things and that’s important because with her — I can talk knowing that the talk is real! Oh believe me, it’s amazingly real! And she also gives me the oportunity to listen as fully and completely as possible. And I can’t seem to get her out of my head […]
February 15, 2014

soleil je t’aime
et pour toujours
tu es fidèle
mais l’amour
n’est pas souvent comme toi
pourquoi?

(Source: Spotify)

February 14, 2014
theparisreview:

Talking It Out
Love poems (and what have I of yoursBut one you did not send for jealousy,And all my own?)Do not define their motion, curesFor the emblazoned heart, the callow palsyOf limbs: the boneAlone that will not die, too deepBeneath the flesh for any but one certainTouch to reach,Itself is quiet in them. SleepAlone knows tactics otherwise forgotten.
I speak the speech, For there are rhymes to dispossess Even a god, if spoken by the giver, Though unheard; Then in these lines I see you pass, With whom I lay a whole night through and never Spoke a word.
—Stephen Orgel.Photography credit Melissa Catanese, from the collection of Peter J. Cohen. (via)

theparisreview:

Talking It Out

Love poems (and what have I of yours
But one you did not send for jealousy,
And all my own?)
Do not define their motion, cures
For the emblazoned heart, the callow palsy
Of limbs: the bone
Alone that will not die, too deep
Beneath the flesh for any but one certain
Touch to reach,
Itself is quiet in them. Sleep
Alone knows tactics otherwise forgotten.

I speak the speech,
For there are rhymes to dispossess
Even a god, if spoken by the giver,
Though unheard;
Then in these lines I see you pass,
With whom I lay a whole night through and never
Spoke a word.

Stephen Orgel.
Photography credit Melissa Catanese, from the collection of Peter J. Cohen. (via)

February 1, 2014

Let the great world spin

image

Mind in a flurry, heavy door pressing on my elbow as I hold it open, you’re standing in the corridor and talking, and I’m holding the book you just gave me. I’m flipping through the pages while you’re being too tentative and polite, waving the receipt just in case I don’t like it and don’t want it. What nonsense are you sprouting, what ideas are you having with a suggestion like that? While you’re talking I scan the epigraph: “All the lives we could live, all the people we will never know, never will be, they are everywhere. That is what the world is.” I close the cover and hold the book even more tightly. I dislike this arrangement, this corridor space you’re suspended in, this conveyer belt you’re on; it’s very hard to say thank you properly when we’re all awkward with each other, always too happy to steal away when we’ve created a moment together. 

This winter break I felt a complete stranger, realizing “what the world is” and feeling the pain of it; the sheer alienation. I didn’t, at that point, have the emotional resources to understand the humbling beauty of that revelation that I’m only opening myself to now. I felt more like a specter of a person with each day. The hours of my 20th birthday were spent most specter-like, the culmination of spectatorship. I visited museums with a friend in DC and then took a solitary bus ride back to New York, riding through the golden hour, taking the longer walking route back. It was the best way I could have possibly spent it, but it was an unsettling heralding of a new age, one probably to be spent feeling more and more estranged with each day. 

I need to hold on to youthfulness, the only salvation at this point. But can youthfulness be consciously held, inhabited? We can take pictures of it, we can draw it. Facebook is saturated with vital images of vital people, the narratives of their singular lives and precious youthfulness stretched across beautifully tailored pictures, evidence of their existing, in the prime of their lives. Some times I break down a little, feeling like I haven’t lived because I don’t see enough pictures of it, feeling like in-between hours outside the pictures never happened. And I feel this desire to be the source of a perverse joy in mistakes and immaturity. University is a funny jungle, living in a fishbowl of young adults. I see ourselves so much as children, all still little children, reveling in our fruitless loves and messings up to the degree that they can still help us feel young. But this isn’t enough to be young. My prayer - to someday find that actual source of youth and hold on to it, to go past contriving thrills, to catch myself truly delighted. 

 

August 31, 2013

Love is pure oxygen

image

Columbia, New York. How do you do?

Sounds travel up and down the hall and I catch the words ‘you belong here’…a boy next door reciting the words off the Spectator. I feel watched. I have to acclimatize myself to a culture of open doors - people look and linger, look and walk. Should I extend a cordial invitation at every turn? Sounds travel up and down and for a while I miss the sentiment, grace and vulnerability of the intonations of my mother tongue. The cadence of which has always conveyed a peculiar heartfeltness; the tones rise and dip in thought, rise and dip close to the core. My habitual inflections are now involuntarily half coated beneath a thick, impersonal American vigor. 

In the equally harsh daylight we exchange names and faces. I enjoy walking pass people in the dark. I saw people at the grand piano in the lounge by a dim light. Why does intimacy occur without the lights? Why does the darkness convey it? Like Caravaggio’s paintings the consuming darkness wraps subjects in the stuff of the unknown. The familiarized figure is now the subject of mystery, an invitation for discovery…perhaps again. There is a need no more for further enlightenment, we can escape the utilitarian gaze of light and meet, beyond the details - superficial, biographical; meet where we matter.

People walk by for a split second and they shake me. I don’t know how far I am invited, if at all, into the circuit of their lives.

August 27, 2013

Damn all those people

Who don’t lose control

Who will never take a foot out of life

You might not think that I care

But you don’t know what I know

August 13, 2013

Everybody’s rushing around like they got a meeting
I just want to be here with a friend of mine

August 12, 2013
Love is essential; gregariousness is optional.
Susan Cain, Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking
August 5, 2013

I see myself change as the days change over.

"How can we be whole together if you are not empty in the place that I am to fill?"

gullible travels

W.HuiYu