n. the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it—whether through envy or pity or simple foreignness—which allows it to drift away from the rest of your life story, until the memory itself feels out of place, almost mythical, wandering restlessly in the fog, no longer even looking for a place to land.
A poet’s autobiography is his poetry. Anything else is just a footnote.
—Yevgeny Yevtushenko (via mythologyofblue)
Death certificate, 1923, from New Brunswick, Canada
But then later on, when I got my Danish book on television, I stopped being afraid because I read the truth, and that’s the scientifical truth, which is much better. You shouldn’t let poets lie to you.
—Björk (via youtube)
I have no ideas, only obsessions. Anybody can have ideas. Ideas have never caused anybody’s downfall.
—Emil Cioran (via exilio-solitudine)
I feel all shadows of the universe multiplied deep inside my skin.
—Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry dated 5 November 1931.
I say unto you: one must still have chaos in oneself to be able to give birth to a dancing star. I say unto you: you still have chaos in yourselves.
—Nietzsche, from Thus Spoke Zarathustra (via tristealven)
lithographs by John Bauer
We had a lot of trouble with western mental health workers who came here immediately after the genocide and we had to ask some of them to leave.
They came and their practice did not involve being outside in the sun where you begin to feel better. There was no music or drumming to get your blood flowing again. There was no sense that everyone had taken the day off so that the entire community could come together to try to lift you up and bring you back to joy. There was no acknowledgement of the depression as something invasive and external that could actually be cast out again.
Instead they would take people one at a time into these dingy little rooms and have them sit around for an hour or so and talk about bad things that had happened to them. We had to ask them to leave.
—~A Rwandan talking to a western writer, Andrew Solomon, about his experience with western mental health and depression.
From The Moth podcast, ‘Notes on an Exorcism’. (via jacobwren)
the things outside of other people’s apartments.
Mary Jo Hoffman
Untitled (Department Store), 1929. Werner Mantz. Gelatin silver print.
A room is, after all, a place where you hide from the wolves. That’s all any room is.
—Jean Rhys, from Good Morning, Midnight, 1939 (via torturegardens)