If anyone from Tumblr were in a horror movie.
If anyone from Tumblr were in a horror movie.
Baba Yaga dines, with iron teeth
‘What does he say?’ he asked.
‘He’s very sad,’ Úrsula answered, ‘because he thinks that you’re going to die.’
‘Tell him,’ the colonel said, smiling, ‘that a person doesn’t die when he should but when he can.’
Some things you forget. Other things you never do. But it’s not. Places, places are still there. If a house burns down, it’s gone, but the place—the picture of it—stays, and not just in my remory, but out there, in the world.
At times I feel as if I had lived all this before and that I have already written these very words, but I know it was not I: it was another woman, who kept her notebooks so that one day I could use them.
Tita knew through her own flesh how fire transforms the elements, how a lump of corn flour is changed into a tortilla, how a soul that hasn’t been warmed by the fire of love is lifeless, like a useless ball of corn flour.
I am the sum total of everything that went before me, of all I have been seen done, of everything done-to-me. I am everyone everything whose being-in-the-world affected was affected by mine. I am anything that happens after I’m gone which would not have happened if I had not come.
God made human beings free agents. We are able to choose good over evil, but the opposite too. And in order to protect our human freedom, God doesn’t often, very often at least, intervene. God can’t do that without taking away our moral freedom. Do you see?
Destiny is usually just around the corner. Like a thief, a hooker, or a lottery vendor: its three most common personifications. But what destiny does not do is home visits. You have to go for it.
Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step.
We demand rigidly-defined areas of doubt and uncertainty.
- Douglas Adams
Presenting the FYE/PoMo Writing Contest winner - an interpretation of Futurama as the postmodern condition.
‘Sprookjes and Vertellingen / Fairytales and Stories’ by Hans Christian Andersen, illustrated by Rie Cramer. Published 1931 by W. de Haan, Utrecht.
If you’re interested, here’s a complete collection of Hans Christian Andersen’s fairytales in several different languages for your reading pleasure.
The uncharted backwaters of the unfashionable end of the Western Spiral arm of the Galaxy
Muditā (Pāli and Sanskrit: मुदिता) in Buddhism is joy. It is especially sympathetic or vicarious joy, the pleasure that comes from delighting in other people’s well-being rather than begrudging it.
Mudita meditation is used to cultivate appreciative joy at the success and good fortune of others. It is used to counteract the resentment, jealousy, or envy often experienced at another’s success.
Many Buddhist teachers interpret joy more broadly as an inner spring of infinite joy that is available to everyone at all times, regardless of circumstances. The more deeply one drinks of this spring, the more secure one becomes in one’s own abundant happiness, and the easier it then becomes to relish the joy of other people as well.
Joy is also traditionally regarded as the most difficult to cultivate of the four immeasurables (brahmavihārā: also “four sublime attitudes”). To show joy is to celebrate happiness and achievement in others even when we are facing tragedy ourselves.
1. tree nymphs in Greek mythology. In Greek, drys signifies “oak”, from an Indo-European root *derew(o)- “tree” or “wood”, thus dryads are specifically the nymphs of oak trees though the term has come to be used for all tree nymphs in general.
2. a deity or nymph of the woods.
To sit among all those unknown things before a puzzle like that is hopeless. That way lies monomania. Face this world. Learn its ways, watch it, be careful of too hasty guesses at its meaning. In the end you will find clues to it all.
Time is priceless, but it’s Free. You can’t own it, you can use it. You can spend it. But you can’t keep it. Once you’ve lost it you can never get it back.
Slaughterhouse-Five, Kurt Vonnegut
Billy Pilgrim has come unstuck in time.
Billy has gone to sleep a senile widower and awakened on his wedding day. He has walked through a door in 1955 and come out another one in 1941. He has gone back through that door to find himself in 1963. He has seen his birth and death many times, he says, and pays random visits to all the events in between.
Words bend our thinking to infinite paths of self-delusion, and the fact that we spend most of our mental lives in brain mansions built of words means that we lack the objectivity necessary to see the terrible distortion of reality which language brings.
If the Universe came to an end every time there was some uncertainty about what had happened in it, it would never have got beyond the first picosecond. And many of course don’t. It’s like a human body, you see. A few cuts and bruises here and there don’t hurt it. Not even major surgery if it’s done properly. Paradoxes are just the scar tissue. Time and space heal themselves up around them and people simply remember a version of events which makes as much sense as they require it to make.
The barriers between reality and fiction are softer than we think; a bit like a frozen lake. Hundreds of people can walk across it, but then one evening a thin spot develops and someone falls through; the hole is frozen over by the following morning.
Can anyone alter fate? All of us combined… or one great figure… or someone strategically placed, who happens to be in the right spot. Chance. Accident. And our lives, our world, hanging on it.
Da série: Tatoos deprimentes.
Some Douglas Adams inspired artwork by me. One of my favourite Authors of all time.
Love the Towel Art!