Change
And here is the moment
Everything is about to change.
Literally every thing.
I have always carried a hunger for beauty: total, insatiable, almost violent in its purity. A hunger I almost never recognize in anyone else.
Hemingway gave it weather and bone.
Miller named it the thirst no water ever reaches.
Kerouac felt in it the slow rot of stillness.
Even Gertrude Stein (not my favorite ornament of the Paris salons.. for reasons you statistically agree with) to the marrow when she said about identity:
An identity is so much a thing that it could not ever be any other thing, and then you live somewhere else, and years later the address that was so much an address it was like your name, something living, something you said with your whole chest, years after you do not know what the address was, and when you try to say it, it is no longer a name but a hole you cannot fill.
That is the bargain I made. I remembered so fiercely that I calcified.
I traded every future for one immovable past, what Hemingway later called, from the safety of a new life, his Moveable Feast. Everything is about to change. Literally every thing.
Everything is about to change.
Literally every thing.
I have always carried a hunger for beauty: total, insatiable, almost violent in its purity. A hunger I almost never recognize in anyone else.
Hemingway gave it weather and bone.
Miller named it the thirst no water ever reaches.
Kerouac felt in it the slow rot of stillness.
Even Gertrude Stein (not my favorite ornament of the Paris salons.. for reasons you statistically agree with) to the marrow when she said about identity:
An identity is so much a thing that it could not ever be any other thing, and then you live somewhere else, and years later the address that was so much an address it was like your name, something living, something you said with your whole chest, years after you do not know what the address was, and when you try to say it, it is no longer a name but a hole you cannot fill.
That is the bargain I made. I remembered so fiercely that I calcified.
I traded every future for one immovable past, what Hemingway later called, from the safety of a new life, his Moveable Feast. Everything is about to change. Literally every thing.