tryingtoorbitthesun

[tryingtoorbitthesun]

“When he thought of her, it rather amazed him, that he had let that girl with her violin go. Now, of course, he saw that her self-effacing proposal was quite irrelevant. All she had needed was the certainty of his love, and his reassurance that there was no hurry when a lifetime lay ahead of them. Love and patience- if only he had had them both at once- would surely have seen them both through. (…) This is how the entire course of life can be changed – by doing nothing. On Chesil beach he could have called out to Florence, he could have gone after her. He did not know, or would not have cared to know, that as she ran away from him, certain in her distress that she was about to lose him, she had never loved him more, or more hopelessly, and that the sound of his voice would have been a deliverance, and she would have turned back. Instead, he stood in cold and righteous silence in the summer’s dusk, watching her hurry along the shore, the sound of her difficult progress lost to the breaking of small waves, until she was blurred, receding against the immense straight road of shingle gleaming in the pallid light.”

[tryingtoorbitthesun]

[tryingtoorbitthesun]

yes

Listen rn

[tryingtoorbitthesun]

@davidtennan-t

not his circus, not his monkeys

[tryingtoorbitthesun]

Doctor. Oh, Doctor…

[tryingtoorbitthesun]

spent a while looking for this :)

A Choice of Three, by Alex Turner

In the tunnel I noticed I had a choice of three. While I thought it very kind of them to offer me this, I do wonder if they realized what a dilemma they were sending to face me. The trouble was, if I looked at your reflection in the left window I missed the actual image of you and your reflection in the right. And if I looked in the right I had the same problem but the other way around. At first I thought I should probably settle on one of the mirrors as they were soon to disappear, but that idea quickly wilted, and my attention was drawn back to the center, occasionally checking on either side. I must say I did question the authenticity of your nap a few minutes before. As the train left Loughborough I suspected it could’ve been a device to avoid conversation. I’d barely considered this for a moment, however, when a heavy breath and a gulping sound that I decided would be too embarrassing to fake led me to conclude that your nap wasn’t fraudulent. I found it difficult to concentrate on anything else as you slumped beneath your coat. Delighted that we’d waited until this hour to travel so the evening sun got its opportunity to skip across those sleeping cheeks, but unnerved by the prospect of being removed from the opposing chair to yours. I knew it was reserved but hoped that whoever had reserved it had fallen over. It looked as if today I’d be safe. The train wasn’t too busy but I did take a moment to recall the time when I was less fortunate. I remmebered it with a chilling vivivity we were on the way to Brighton. I knew it was going to be his seat as soon as I saw him on the platform, unzipping, checking, zipping, and rechecking things. Something about his face suggested that he had for years had a mustache and had not long since removed it. He wasn’t going to think twice about disposing of me, especially considering then he’d get the chance to sit with you. Though his hiking boot-march through the carriage was rather revolting, it wasn’t this that made my hands tense up into sour claws of nausea. It was the way he said it. “You’re in my seat.” No “excuse me,” no polite uncertainty, just the rigid, hideous fact. The thud with which it landed expelled all my preparation. Before I remembered my plans to pretend to be asleep, deaf, French, or only sat there because someone else was in my seat, I was walking to find another vacancy. I ended up dwelling unhappily beside a girl with a boys bum. I knew that because she walked too far past when she returned to one of what I thought to be two empty seats when I sat myself there. I fidgeted until our reunion on the platform, where you brutally informed me “That man was really rather pleasant, actually.” Today I thought I’d better make sure that couldn’t happen again and I pulled the ticket from the top of my seat. It took a few attempts and the facade of hanging a jacket to finally complete. I was terribly cautious. There’s a threat of punishment for such deeds by fine as far as I understand, but those shackles were at the back of my mind as I crushed the reservation in my hidden fist. Folding and squeezing as if it were that beast on the way to the seaside. Fortunately, there was no retribution. If anything the train got quieter as the journey continued. And so in the tunnel, unable to decide, my head flicked through this trilogy of angles, angel after angle, until we were out the other side. My frantic twitching no doubt caused the man at the adjacent table to narrow his eyes at the very least, I imagine. I don’t know for sure. I didn’t have time tot add him to the cycle.

I love this, he’s a brilliant writer. 

[tryingtoorbitthesun]

today my therapist told me something along the lines of,

“forgive yourself a little for feeling the way you do… it’s perfectly comprehensible considering everything that has been thrown at you. how could you not be hurting like you are? you weren’t given a choice… And yet, you’re still here trying to make it better and making sure that you never repeat to someone else what has been done to you. congratulations, truly”

and i just need a moment now…

[tryingtoorbitthesun]

What if…?

[tryingtoorbitthesun]

is it just me or frances flynn from conversations with friends is autistic?

edit.: i’ve finished the book and i still think this …

[tryingtoorbitthesun]

YOU THINK I’M JOKING BUT I’M DEAD SERIOUS

[tryingtoorbitthesun]

“I squeezed her hand and said nothing. I knew little about Keats or his poetry, but I thought it possible that in his hopeless situation he would not have wanted to write precisely because he loved her so much.”

~ Ian McEwan, Enduring Love

[tryingtoorbitthesun]

But if I kill you, I kill her. Except that implies in this big grand scheme of Gods and Devils that she’s just a victim. But I’ve seen a lot of this universe. I’ve seen fake gods and bad gods and demi-gods and would-be gods, and out of all that, out of that whole pantheon, if I believe in one thing, just one thing, I believe in her

Doctor Who | The Tenth Doctor in 2x09: The Satan Pit (Remake of this post)

[tryingtoorbitthesun]

it is november, and yesterday it felt like it was supposed to be snowing. in boston, november used a winter month, not a fall month. it is supposed to be chilly; rarely capping over 45F. it is a sweater-and-jacket month. it is a "maybe a scarf too" month. in my childhood, november meant blizzards and sleet.

it did not snow. tomorrow the weather predicts a high of 76.

i have spent so many years of my life studying the longterm possibilities of climate change - the culmination of capitalism wreaking havoc on the bodies of people, animals, plants - but every so often i am still shocked by something small and personal.

in a hundred years, when someone goes outside in boston - will they know the feeling of "snow in the air"?

i know it's a learned feeling, a sensation that maybe only longterm experience can teach. a few years ago, i was walking with my friend who had just moved up from the south. i said it smells like snow and she gave me this look like - what the fuck. i said it feels like snow too, which didn't help. she looked up to the bright blue sky and then back at me and then back at the sky. 12 hours later, we had 3 inches. you can just tell if it's going to snow.

except i can't tell, anymore. i stand outside in a tee shirt and watch my dog dance around a lake. we're in a drought and the skin of the water has peeled back twenty meters. the lake is tamed, quiet, puddlelike and sour. my pokemon go app warns there's a weather condition in my area.

my dog gets too hot from running and sits in the water and i want to laugh about his long frame and how awkwardly he sits - and i can't. some simian part of my brain is scratching the walls. it was supposed to snow. it was supposed to snow, but now it's warm instead.

during the last full solar eclipse, the dogs and the birds and the crickets went crazy under utter darkness. we laughed at them then, promising it will all be okay in a moment. but some part of me is still locked in that long night: some animal sensation.

something is wrong, my body says. i can't afford eggs or rent. i go outside to watch a sunset and listen to birdsong. i don't bring a jacket. allergies are killing me this season, allergies i didn't have as a kid. everyone comments that halloween has started to feel strange, offkilter. that it's hard having "holiday cheer." my body thinks it's april, and then it thinks we're in september, and then june.

something is terribly wrong, she whispers. go outside. it is supposed to be snowing.

[tryingtoorbitthesun]

I miss your touch so much that sometimes it hurts to breathe, like my lungs are on fire burning down to ashes. My skin feels stiff and sore as if it doesn’t fit me at all. How can I miss something I never had?

-I felt it once. In a dream

[tryingtoorbitthesun]

“(…) It teaches us that the art of storytelling is coming to an end. Less and less frequently do we encounter people with the ability to tell a tale properly. More and more often there is embarrassment all around when the wish to hear a story is expressed. It is as if something that seemed inalienable to us, the securest among our possessions, were taken from us: the ability to exchange experiences.”

-Walter Benjamin

[tryingtoorbitthesun]

Me at the end of the school day, considering I still have 1:30h of public transports before I get home:

Be strong, saith my heart; I am a soldier;

I have seen worse sights than this.

Homer, The Odyssey

[tryingtoorbitthesun]

Do I dare

Disturb the universe?

In a minute there is time

For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse.

T. S. Eliot, "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock"