escaping words ... from my brain

This is where my procrastination-induced and complaint-filled entries lived while I was studying for the bar. Now, I suppose, it's a random space where shorter posts will hang out, eat snacks, and talk about me behind my back.


Writings that take more time will live at my regular blog at escaping words.


readandbreathe:

From REBORN by Susan Sontag.

Reassuring.

Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino, y nada más;
caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace camino,
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante, no hay camino,
sino estelas en la mar.

—Antonio Machado

I am reading Helen Oyeyemi’s Boy, Snow, Bird right now, and some lines from this poem make an appearance. Lovely.

Translation:

Wanderer, your footsteps are
the road, and nothing more;
wanderer, there is no road,
the road is made by walking.
By walking one makes the road,
and upon glancing back
one sees the path
that will never be trod again.
Wanderer, there is no road—
Only foam in the sea.

Here’s another translation:

Traveler, the path is made
by your passage, nothing more;
Traveler, there is no roadway,
for it is made as you journey.
By walking you make the way,
and turning, you look back to see
a path which you will never tread again.
Traveler, there is no roadway,
save the wild sea’s wake.

image

Just when I think, hey, that was a pretty nice day, it’s even not a million degrees out — a rat slams straight into the back of my foot. We are both taken aback.

this is fucking amazing.

nprfreshair:

Have a great weekend! 

By @dublinbymouth

heehee

All things pass and nothing stays… Into the same rivers we step and do not step, we are and are not… It is not possible to step twice into the same river according to Heraclitus, or to come into contact twice with a mortal being in the same state.
Heraclitus via Plato and via Plutarch (via ekim12)
5. Saturday I sat on the floor in front of a great big window in my living room. I sat in the middle of a patch of sunlight. I read poems by Pablo Neruda aloud to myself. I sipped ginger tea. I stuffed slices of freshly cut mango into my mouth and let the my fingers get sticky enough that I had to suck on them a bit before I could use them to turn the page. There are times when I feel safe and absolutely IN my body. Times when the sun can reach me without overwhelming me with its heat and I can speak love into existence on the tail of sliced fruit. Sometimes, a mango is home and the smell of ginger can bleed you out.
Sometimes the feel of your mouth around your fingers is a reminder: This is mine. This is mine. This is only for me.
About Jay: I’m a go-getter, a self-made man. I work hard, play hard, party even harder. I like to throw big parties, the bigger the better, the more the merrier. I may have nice clothes, nice cars, and 99 bottles of Dom, but deep down I’m just a sensitive, small-town guy. I’m a dreamer, I don’t drink, and I treat girls right. I’ve been burned by love before, though, so let’s take it slow.
making good food fair and affordable cannot be achieved without affecting the whole system. These are not just food questions; they are questions of justice and equality and rights, of enhancing rather than restricting democracy, of making a more rational, legitimate economy. In other words, working to make food fair and affordable is an opportunity for this country to live up to its founding principles.