I’ll have the calcified pineal gland, with a side of dull life, hold the bed-ridden blues and paranoid delusions plz.
Day 5, back on my anti-d’s. I have endured funky haunting and taunting for months. But when I flatlined in the fog last week, I had to make the choice. Class is starting on Wednesday, and I must be able to reason, write, and read. Thank you for any thoughts and prayers.
|—||Rainer Maria Rilke, Letters to a Young Poet (via liquidnight)|
Nevertheless the sun hides not Virginia’s Dismal Swamp, nor Rome’s accursed Campagna, nor wide Sahara, nor all the millions of miles of deserts and of griefs beneath the moon. The sun hides not the ocean, which is the dark side of this earth, and which is two thirds of this earth. So, therefore, that mortal man who hath more of joy than sorrow in him, that mortal man cannot be true- not true, or undeveloped. With books the same. The truest of all men was the Man of Sorrows, and the truest of all books is Solomon’s, and Ecclesiastes is the fine hammered steel of woe.
And there is a Catskill eagle in some souls that can alike dive down into the blackest gorges, and soar out of them again and become invisible in the sunny spaces. And even if he for ever flies within the gorge, that gorge is in the mountains; so that even in his lowest swoop the mountain eagle is still higher than other birds upon the plain, even though they soar.