The danger of wistfulnessserenitydnbApril 29 2009, 06:55:49 UTC
One of my favorite poets (though he's little known for his poetry) is Stephen Crane. He wrote this wonderful piece.
The wayfarer, Perceiving the pathway to truth, Was struck with astonishment. It was thickly grown with weeds. "Ha," he said, "I see that none has passed here In a long time." Later he saw that each weed Was a singular knife. "Well," he mumbled at last, "Doubtless there are other roads."
Re: The danger of wistfulnesspuplet_loafApril 30 2009, 05:25:10 UTC
It is an intimidating thing, isn't it? That choice to leap?
But so often it's not a leap, or even a choice you know you make. It's the most delicate of shifts--a passing thought--one moment's tiny willingness--a thimbleful of reckless joy.
I am so tired of being reasonable. I don't know what to do with myself. Maybe I just never want to grow up and am fucking around. On the other hand, maybe I'm grasping at the truth.
Re: The danger of wistfulnessserenitydnbMay 3 2009, 08:41:11 UTC
I always responded to that bit of Crane wisdom with the notion that I need a clever device, something like kevlar shoes, or maybe a diamond tipped weed whacker
( ... )
Comments 3
The wayfarer,
Perceiving the pathway to truth,
Was struck with astonishment.
It was thickly grown with weeds.
"Ha," he said,
"I see that none has passed here
In a long time."
Later he saw that each weed
Was a singular knife.
"Well," he mumbled at last,
"Doubtless there are other roads."
Reply
But so often it's not a leap, or even a choice you know you make. It's the most delicate of shifts--a passing thought--one moment's tiny willingness--a thimbleful of reckless joy.
I am so tired of being reasonable. I don't know what to do with myself. Maybe I just never want to grow up and am fucking around. On the other hand, maybe I'm grasping at the truth.
Either way I am being horribly self-indulgent.
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