sy.think/tell

Thursday, 29 September 2011

I ran away, hands stuck in pockets that seemed
 all holes

The stars above me rustled through the sky. I heard them on the roadsides where I stopped
, those fine September nights, when dew dropped.
Arthur Rimbaud, Wandering

The streets are kept afloat and that girl never leaves me alone

She was gone, and all that was left was the space you'd grown around her, like a tree that grows around a fence. For a long time, it remained hollow. Years, maybe. And when at last it was filled again, you knew that the new love you felt for a woman would have been impossible without her. If it weren't for her, there would never have been an empty space, or the need to fill it.
Nicole Krauss, The History Of Love

Oh My Heart - R.E.M.

Thursday, 22 September 2011

I am flying on a star into a meteor tonight

The first thing I remember is being under something. It was a table, I saw a table leg, I saw the legs of the people, and a portion of the tablecloth hanging down. It was dark under there, I liked being under there. It must have been in Germany. I must have been between one and two years old. It was 1922. I felt good under the table. Nobody seemed to know that I was there. There was sunlight upon the rug and on the legs of the people. I liked the sunlight. The legs of the people were not interesting, not like the tablecloth which hung down, not like the table leg, not like the sunlight.
Ham on Rye, Charles Bukowski

Monday, 19 September 2011

When she looks at the stars they start to explode

His soul sat up. It met me. Those kinds of souls always do - the best ones. The ones who rise up and say “I know who you are and I am ready. Not that I want to go, of course, but I will come.” Those souls are always light because more of them have been put out. More of them have already found their way to other places.
Markus Zusak, The Book Thief