breathelit

[breathelit]

From exile’s lamentations distanced, lives on my every reminiscence in an inverted quietude: What’s lost forever is immortal; and this eternity inverted is the proud soul’s beatitude.

—— Selected Poems, Vladimir Nabokov

[breathelit]

time

time.

it is unbound and infinite,

it is,

an enumeration of

the arbitrary

injured by

human imperfection.

[breathelit]

who is gone

for you who is gone nocturnally, diurnally reconnoitering over the contemporary crusade inadvertently deserting one who really cares “I have to do this, I have to find out who I really was” but have you ever contemplated once the past hasn’t ever mattered to both of us, and our tangling thread of fate yet you persist on your intransigent, fading plea

[breathelit]

a single text

evanescent love kindling desire all of them arise whilst you merely sent a text i ponder the high standard I use to mend structure by structure forming a hierarchy has ever been that sweatless for you; extemporaneously unwillingly yet all deserving toppled it down with a single text yes, a single text

[breathelit]

escapee attempt intended to purify abandonment whereas the fleeting thoughts have trampled over the reality one caged possess

[breathelit]

solivagant, gadfly, brusque.

solitary roamers retaining personalities they came across despite the hot slap at socratic optimism that bites at the side of their face

—— by you, yes you.

[breathelit]

We may lose our ego in nature's indifference, but we may also lose it in nature's magnificence. Do we see the world as heartless or as sublime? The drama of our life and death is fleeting, but is played out on a stage of unparalleled wonder.

Slavoj Žižek on his book, Event in Transit.

[breathelit]

I doubt sometimes whether a quiet & unagitated life would have suited me ㅡ yet I sometimes long for it.

[breathelit]

When something bothered me, I didn’t talk with anyone about it. I thought it over all by myself, came to a conclusion, and took action alone. Not that I really felt lonely. I thought that’s just the way things are. Human beings, in the final analysis, have to survive on their own.

Haruki Murakami,  Sputnik Sweetheart. (via wordsnquotes)

[breathelit]