May 29th, 2007

don't fear death

(no subject)

I don't mean that he was indifferent to the body. The thought of female nakedness made him giddy. But let's carefully note this subtle distinction:
He didn't long for the nakedness of a girl's body; he longed for a girl's face lighted by the nakedness of her body.
He didn't long to possess a girl's body; he longed to possess the face of a girl who would yield her body to him as proof of her love.

my voraciousness for books is renewed. for the last two years it has been primarily academia and, before that, work related. i'd forgotten the joy of losing myself in pages and chapters. at the moment i am thanking milan kundera. he has stirred my appetite and i want to devour all his words. i normally don't read fiction - occasionally historical fiction, but usually nonfiction history, geography, philosophy politics and social theories. kundera's work may be fiction, but it combines history, music and philosophy. it is isn't difficult to see his own philosophies have tones of nietzsche. so, as i asked before, but have now read more...i am going to go with existentialism, rather than post-modernism. :)
so i finished unbearable lightness of being and am now living in life is elsewhere. i say living because everything i am doing outside the book is just moments between life elsewhere - in his pages. moving on to another book of his is like a process...not a beginning of a new book, nor an end of a previous book. there is a flow...a river of words...that seem to connect this book with the last. only half way through this one, i am already eager for the next. :) life is elsewhere was his second book and publication in his own country, czechoslovakia, was refused, though it was published in france and the US. all his work was banned in czechoslovakia. he took a teaching position in france, later losing his czech citizenship. the book won the prix medicis for the best foreign novel in france. i think all but two of his books have been translated to english.

And there is nothing more beautiful than the moment before a journey, the moment when tomorrow's horizon comes to visit us and makes us its promises.

. . . he took a look at the blond girl's eyes and knew that he must not take part in the rigged game in which the ephemeral passes for the eternal and the small for the big, that he must not take part in the rigged game called love.

"Surely you believe, don't you," the painter said to him one day when they had touched on this subject, "that a fantastic image you've put into your poem is the result of rational thought. No so: it came to you out of nowhere; suddenly; unexpectedly; the author of that image is not you but rather someone inside you, someone who wrote your poem inside you. And that someone who wrote your poem is the omnipotent stream of the unconscious that flows through each of us; it's not due to your merits that this stream, to which we're all the same, has chosen to make you its violin."


(no subject)

Tell two truths and a lie about yourself.

guess which is the lie and then post two truths and a lie in your lj!

i left home when i was 16
i lost my virginity when i was 15
the first time i fell in love i was 27
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