For The Time Being
home · archive · message
“…alone, reviewing my words or deeds soberly, the sense of being cut off always took possession of me. ‘They don’t know me,’ I would say to myself. And by this I meant that they knew me neither for myself nor for what I might become. They were impressed by the mask. I didn’t call it that, but that is how I thought of my ability to impress others. It was not me doing it, but a persona which I knew how to put on. It was something, indeed, which anyone with a little intelligence and a flair for acting could learn to do. Monkey tricks, in other words. Yet, though I regarded these performances in this light, I myself at times would wonder if perhaps it was not me, after all, who was behind these antics.” (Nexus, H.M.)

Favorite authors. Favorite artists. Music that moves me. A few girlie things.

For my writing:

For my art:

For a list of books I've read recently:


…if one isn’t absolutely honest, what is the use of existing?
Adela in “A Passage to India” by E.M. Forster
Trees of a poor quality bordered the road, indeed the whole scene was inferior, and suggested that the countryside was too vast to admit of excellence. In vain did each item in it call out, “come, come.” There was not enough god to go around.

From “A Passage to India” by E.M. Forster

There was not enough god to go around.

And unlocking a drawer, he took out his wife’s photograph. He gazed at it, and tears sprouted from his eyes. He thought, “How unhappy I am!” But because he really was unhappy, another emotion soon mingled with his self-pity: he desired to remember his wife and could not. Why could he remember people whom he did not love? They were always so vivid to him, whereas the more he looked at this photograph, the less he saw. She had eluded him thus, ever since they had carried her to her tomb. He had known she would pass from his hands and eyes, but had thought she could live in his mind, not realizing that the very fact that we have loved the dead increases their unreality, and that the more passionately we invoke them the further they recede.

From “A Passage to India” by E.M. Forster

So good.

She became the mother of a son…and in giving him a second son she died. Then he realized what he had lost, and that no other woman could ever take her place; a friend would come nearer to her than another woman. She had gone, there was no one like her, and what was that uniqueness but love? He amused himself, he forgot her at times: but at other times he felt that she had sent all of the beauty and joy of the world into Paradise, and he meditated suicide. Would he meet her beyond the tomb? Is there such a meeting place? Though orthodox, he did not know. God’s unity was indubitable and indubitably announced, but on all other points he wavered like the average Christian; his belief in the life to come would pale to a hope, vanish, reappear, all in a single sentence or a dozen heart-beats, so that the corpuscles of his blood rather than he seemed to decide which opinion he should hold, and for how long. It was so with all of his opinions. Nothing stayed, nothing passed that did not return; the circulation was ceaseless and kept him young, and he mourned his wife the more sincerely because he mourned her seldom.

From “A Passage to India” by E.M. Forster

The observations, thoughts and the words and writing of this passage really made an impression upon me.

#footloose #dance #the80’s

I wanted to share a crazy little story with you all: 

     A few days ago, I put a 20$ bill in my back pocket and it fell out at some point during my evening at work and was nowhere to be found when I was getting ready to go home. Upon expressing my frustration to Colin about having lost this 20$ bill he said “don’t worry, it’ll come around, you’ll get it back someday.” 
     This morning, on my walk downtown, I found a woman’s wallet on Monticello Ave. with all the cash and cards still in it, a driver’s license and many other things of great importance. I could have left it there but I risked letting it get stolen so instead I tried to find the woman on facebook. When that didn’t work, I decided I’d go by the address on her license on my way home (not too far from my house) and drop it off, hoping she’d be home. 
     Just a little while ago, I went by the address and knocked and she came to the door practically running. She was so happy to see the wallet (and everything that was still intact in it) that she started to cry a little and asked if she could give me 20$ in thanks. I said no but she pressed it into my hand anyway and insisted that I had saved her a lot of trouble and she would be happy if I had it. She asked if she could give me a hug and I said “of course!” and went on my way. She had filed a police report and everything! 
     On my walk home I thought about how nice it was to have returned it to her, of the expression on her face and of her relief. Then I realized I had just gotten my 20$ back and had to laugh. 

Things really do come around.