To Read:

finish, begin

finish, begin

to finish and to begin

But it doesn't always happen that way

Does it? 

In fact, it rarely does

if ever

at all

Though we may not know it

If ever

At all.

It wasn't so very late, that night at home. Somehow it always seems later when away from the life that fills in moments of silence found alone. Alone at home, even though another moved through unoccupied rooms. So I began to think about closing books. 

What if reading the book is like the process of birth--like being born--and closing the book like taking the first breaths of air? Those few seconds from the moment you eye and grasp the book with a view to open it to the moment you do--reading, eyeing, mouthing, whispering, speaking that first word--is like the act of consummation. Deciding whether to open the book at all, to consider it even, is like the dance of choosing a partner. And depending on pre-meditation, how long you've waited for this book, could even be naive falling in love. 

Huh, well. Nary a page of this sort read over the break. And now, once again but for the final time, come the textbooks. 

Love.

It has been a few Tuesdays now, that there ran, in the Science Times section of the NY Times, an article about love. More specifically, an article about avoiding love--at least that's what the writer suggested. 

What ensued in my mind were absurd and tragic comedies of a Sleeper-esque machine in which love {well, in the literal case of Sleeper, physical love} is relegated to the flip of a switch. Where cognitive significance has disappeared, been forgotten and if remembered, thought of as silly.

Why would you bother to go through all of that time and effort when you can neatly take care of a craving in less than 30 seconds, then peacefully return to "regular life?" Why would you want to experience all of that distracting emotion when you have a particularly demanding week at work? Or, to use the writer's example, if you are in the midst of a mid-life crisis and become attracted to someone other than your significant other, why not just medicate oneself against desire? Instead of recognizing the situation, identifying the underlying issues and attempting to reach a common ground of understanding, why not just take the quick and smooth route in the form of a pill or elixir to stifle any unwanted {or wanted} urge? 

Yes, perhaps it could stop someone from doing something they may later regret. But it could also stop them from recognizing and addressing any deeper problems. Oh, and then there is very minor obstruction, just that human propensity to fall into something all-consuming and earth-moving... right, love. 

Here is the article, Anti-Love Drug May Be Ticket to Bliss written by John Tierney. 

Photo by the always lovely Danske. 

constant, i hope

and inescapably inspiring

what ever the recipient

or whom ever

and only defined

by the lover. 

Photo from The Selby. 

Film of Summer, of Love, of Death...

"In life, in order to understand, to really understand the world, you must die at least once. So it's better to die young, when there's still time left to recover and live again."

From "The Garden of the Finzi-Contini's," actor Romolo Valli as said to his son, speaking of Love, lost. The best summation of the most tragic state of being that I've come across in a long while.

Beautifully tragic film...

The filmy visual quality is mesmerizing, as is the "dream world" in which the Finzi-Contini's delicately dwell. It makes me want to move to a small Italian village, play tennis and ride (now) vintage bicycles through shaded lanes...





But the undertone of sorrow never ducks into hibernation. Death is worn on the edge of everyone's sleeve; the lover's death and the untimely death bred by human hatred.

I don't doubt that the book would disappoint...

Images thanks to:
wikipedia.org
70scinema.blogspot.com
polsci167.blogspot.com/