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Day 9. 29 Dec 2013.
eVERything reMINDS ME oF YoU, and I wANt to EScaPE it AlL.
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Sunday, December 29, 2013
Saturday, December 28, 2013
eight
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Day 8. 28 Dec 2013.
At one point, it was all flowers. They are meticulously arranged, with great care, so each petal and stem and thorn is perfectly seen and perfectly appreciated. In another, it was all flowing lines, like lifestream. It follows no path but it flows freely, like what one’s soul should be in its path to achievement of “greater things.” In here, though, there’s nothing but chaos and discourse—why should it be perfect? Anything I put in there, just to fill the space. Just to perfect the art of preoccupation.
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Day 8. 28 Dec 2013.
At one point, it was all flowers. They are meticulously arranged, with great care, so each petal and stem and thorn is perfectly seen and perfectly appreciated. In another, it was all flowing lines, like lifestream. It follows no path but it flows freely, like what one’s soul should be in its path to achievement of “greater things.” In here, though, there’s nothing but chaos and discourse—why should it be perfect? Anything I put in there, just to fill the space. Just to perfect the art of preoccupation.
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the bell jar
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"But I wasn't sure. I wasn't sure at all. How did I know that someday--at college, in Europe, somewhere, anywhere--the bell jar, with its stifling distortions, wouldn't descend again?"
- Esther Greenwood (The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath)
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