"Rivers will flow with chocolate and tea"

-Langle and Vanderburch, Louis-Bronze et le Saint-Simonien

valentine's life

i feel beautiful. always after running, in that split second when i catch a glimpse of the mirror before disappearing behind the curtain of water beads.

i feel so much love. and yet when the shampoo gets into my eye still i thrash my head like a dragon.

Laziness

“Everyone does what they can to avoid thinking. Laziness is the most basic human trait. People don’t want to think-they can’t make the connection between entertainment and thought. They want immediate kicks. People will not be human until they get pleasure from thought-only a thinking person can be a whole person.”

-Vera Chytilova

Yes. That's why I love what the Russian animator (can't recall his name) said, that rather than lowering his craft to the level of the public, he does good work and forces his audience to rise to the level necessary to understand it. He forces the viewer to think. I don't mean everything you watch or read or listen to needs to be of this quality, but I don't see why so many are vehemently opposed to thinking deeply or caring about things beyond a hearty laugh, when opening yourself to the mysteries of art and life through contemplation is the most true and natural way to euphoria and ecstasy (there is a reason for "the frenzy of poetic inspiration" to be an entry in the latter's dictionary definition). There are better applications of passion than fighting that which will expose you to the beauty of the human experience.

Imagined being old, breathing in the bitter trace of days past and unrecoverable. The now is so beautiful, to be young and surrounded by family.

i grow while i shrink and am twisted with wisdom and joy
just two more things to mutate with my metamorphosis

then here i am again beaming at the parallelism of it all

Never Say Neverland

No matter how much Rambo ages, he will always retain those delightful features which mark his eternal childlike condition. Just like it doesn't make a difference how much wisdom, knowledge, or experience our person collects. No matter how many times we call ourselves adults and how many times we believe it.

We are destined to a lifetime of childhood. We are all children, looking with wide eyes at the external world and our internal universes and doing what we can to make sense of the mess that contains us. Look truly into the eyes of any woman and paintbrush eyelashes will frame the eyes of a little girl. Look deeply into the eyes of any man and you will find a boy.

This is Never, Neverland.

Recursion

I believe in doing what you believe and allowing the force of curiosity, the force of inspiration to drive your motions. I believe in fate.

Some months have passed since, looking at a model's photo instead of doing my homework, my eyes interacted with a beautiful quote someone left on her picture. If I had not done this I never would have discovered Baudelaire, or probably I would have, but like Keira Knightley's character says in Last Night, "it's about the when of time", and each time my eyes ran over his words since was strengthened by that first time. It's like Milan Kundera's concept of the motif that he explores in The Unbearable Lightness of Being: Baudelaire has become a motif in my life, and motifs must be evidence of the existence of fate, even if that fate is a construct of our need to find connections and parallels in attempt to make sense of the world.

Just now, looking up a quote from the Baudelaire text I am reading

("The child sees everything in a state of newness; he is always drunk. Nothing more resembles what we call inspiration than the delight with which a child absorbs form and colour.")

 and I stumble upon more beauty to add to my collection:

"And the external world is reborn upon his paper, natural and more than natural, beautiful and more than beautiful, strange and endowed with an impulsive life like the soul of its creator. The phantasmagoria has been distilled from nature."

Fell in love with the words before realizing they too belonged to Baudelaire. This man knew my soul before it was born with my body.