Visceral Realists Society is home for the annotations of a conflicted mind, charmed and delighted by all that is beautiful. I claim no ownership - unless stated otherwise - of photographs posted here.
"Whatever can be common always has little value. In the end it must be as it is and always has been: great things remain for the great, abysses for the profound, nuances and shudders for the refined, and, in brief, all that is rare for the rare"
"In retrospect, it seems as if the record of relationships in my life has always featured the presence of the sort of people whose compassion towards me bordered the fervor and zealotry of religious proportions. Like the religious, who’s every act of kindness is the result of an imaginary mandate from a higher power, these alabaster missionaries of hope in my life, too, have always considered their being in my life as a mandate to fix what seemed to them a broken catalogue of flesh and feelings. And like different medical specialists examining the same person for an undiagnosed malady, these well-wishers and kind-doers in my life have all come and gone, making their own diagnoses, prescribing their own remedies. And like the charitable zeal of a liberal whose actions leaves the confined and the poor at even greater disadvantage, the diversity of liberal actions of these people in my life have left me and my immune system, too, considerably weaker. I’ve yet to meet someone who has no intention of fixing me."source: from my journal, Notes from the Bedroom, 2013 | Permalink
"Let me be no nearer
In death’s dream kingdom
Let me also wear
Such deliberate disguises
Rat’s coat, crowskin, crossed staves
In a field
Behaving as the wind behaves
No nearer"source: The Hollow Men, T. S. Elliot | Permalink
"In Kafka”s novel The Castle, there”s a paragraph in which he yearns for a grave, “deep and narrow”, which he thinks is the only place, away from the noise and commotion of the outside world, where he can be with “her”, endlessly and without interruption. Throughout literature, it seems as though the grave is always the perfect metaphor for peace and quiet, especially in the affairs of the heart, of that dreaded word, the soul. However, the more I think of this, the more I reject the idea of such quietude. I find the whole thing distasteful because in matters of affection, I can never stand quietude. I want explicit commotion: full and brazen anarchy of language and disturbing display of utterances. I feel as though only in such commotion a human being is at his/her most free and what else can be more affectionate, more sexy, than loving someone entirely for their liberty and freedom."source: from my journal, Notes from the Bedroom, 2013 | Permalink
I'm in love with your blog and your journals. Thank you so much for following me and giving me the opportunity to find you. Stay wonderful and amazing! :)
what wonderful and lovely and fine words, thank you; thank you for following back and visiting my page - I certainly hope to read from you again; cheers