Heart of Darkness
A lens into Fitzgerald's treatment of Dick Diver, Tender is the Night
He went back into his house and Nicole saw that one of his most characteristic moods was upon him, the excitement that swept everyone up into it and was inevitably followed by his own form of melancholy, which he never displayed but at which she guessed. This excitement about things reached an intensity out of proportion to their importance, generating a really extraordinary virtuosity with people. Save among a few of the tough-minded and perennially suspicious, he had the power of arousing a fascinated and uncritical love. The reaction came when he realized the waste and extravagance involved. He sometimes looked back with awe at the carnivals of affection he had given, as a general might gaze upon a massacre he had ordered to satisfy an impersonal blood lust. But to be included in Dick Diver’s world for a while was a remarkable experience: people believed he made special reservations about them, recognizing the proud uniqueness of their destinies, buried under the compromises of how many years. He won everyone quickly with an exquisite consideration and a politeness that moved so fast and intuitively that it could be examined only in its effect. Then, without caution, lest the first bloom of the relation wither, he opened the gate to his amusing world. So long as they subscribed to it completely, their happiness was his preoccupation, but at the first flicker of doubt as to its all- inclusiveness he evaporated before their eyes, leaving little communicable memory of what he had said or done.
The change came a long way back - but at first it didn't show. The manner remains intact for some time after the moral cracks. He used to think that he wanted to be good, he wanted to be kind, he wanted to be brave and wise, but it was all pretty difficult. He wanted to be loved, too, if he could fit it in. Often he felt lonely with her and frequently she tired him with the short floods of personal revelations that she reserved exclusively for him. ...it was as if for the remainder of his life he was condemned to carry with him the egos of certain people, early met and early loved, and to be only as complete as they were complete themselves. There was an element of loneliness involved--so easy to be loved--so hard to love.
"You were like you used to be the night you helped us," she was saying, "except at the end, when you were horrid. Why aren't you nice like that always. You can be...Your friends still like you. But you say awful things to people when you've been drinking. I've spent most of my time defending you this summer..."
"You like to help everybody don’t you?”
“I only pretend to.”
"You're all so dull," he said. "I guess I'm the Black Death. I don't seem to bring people happiness any more."
He had lost himself – he could not tell the hour when or the day or the week, the month or the year. “I must go,” he said. As he stood up he swayed a little; he did not feel well any more—his blood raced slow. He raised his right hand and with a papal cross he blessed the beach from the high terrace. Faces turned upward from several umbrellas.
"I'm going to him." She got to her knees.
"No, you're not. Let well enough alone."
The Most Solemn 5th Grader In The World, Upon Encountering the Beginning of Sadness
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Soaring
Jonathan Livingston Seagull sighed. The price of being misunderstood. They call you devil or they call you god. What he had once hoped for the Flock, he now gained for himself alone; and was not sorry for the price that he had paid.
Human. . .On My Faithless Arm
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In Bed: The Kiss
Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec 1892
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Lay your sleeping head my love
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful. . .
Certainty, fidelity
On the stroke of midnight pass
Like vibrations of a bell
And fashionable madmen raise
Their pedantic boring cry:
Every farthing of the cost,
All the dreaded cards foretell,
Shall be paid, but from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought
Not a kiss nor look be lost.
W.H. Auden
My Boat's Name
"It's an answer to people long since dead. . . You see the sentence I heard most often in my childhood was 'You don't run things around here.'" - - Gail Wynand to Dominique Francon, The Fountainhead
Suck At Life
Robert Fulton's Clermont
Did not have nearly as much steamRising in angry, nonsensical vapors
Whistle about to blow
Fantastically always on the brink
Of some unrealized tantrum
Stifled since age two.
Gruff, awkward, irritable caveman
You call yourself "charming"
And tell me "I suck at life"
Really it's not funny
Neither of us should laugh
It's all kind of a mess, really
Dripping, grainy
uneven - this afternoon
This life.
But then - - admittedly, a little tired
Everywhere I turn these days
Seems they all have something slick to say
With a polish that gleams just a little grotesque
Been a long time since I made a friend
For the simple sake of having a friend
What a joy and a relief to be able to say
I find you rather annoying
And sometimes very kind.
Myth of Iphigenia
The eldest daughter of Agamemnon and Clytamnestra and sister of Electra and Orestes. When The Achaean fleet was becalmed at Aulis, Iphigeneia's father sacrificed her to Artemis in order to secure favorable winds to carry the ships to Troy. Her mother later avenged her death by murdering Agamemnon.
Antonio Tempesta
The All American Smile by Hubbell Gardner
In a way, he was like the country he lived in. Everything came too easily to him. But at least he knew it. About once a month he worried that he was a fraud, but then most everyone he knew was more fraudulent. Sometimes he felt. . . there's really no reason for us to change. But of course by then, they were too lost or too lazy. It had always been too easy.
And my problem, too. It has always been too easy. A gift, and a curse.
Journey to the Center of the Earth
In the sunset of dissolution, everything is illuminated by the aura of nostalgia. . . the Greek word for "return" is nostos. Algos means "suffering." So nostaliga is the suffering caused by an unappeased yearning to return. - - Milan Kundera
Warning
She'll let you in her house
If you come knockin late at night
She'll let you in her mouth
If the words you say are right
If you pay the price
She'll let you deep inside
But there's a secret garden she hides
She'll let you in her car
To go drivin round
She'll let you into the parts of herself
That'll bring you down
She'll let you in her heart
If you got a hammer and a vise
But into her secret garden, don't think twice
You've gone a million miles
How far did you get
To that place where you can't remember
And you can't forget
She'll lead you down a path
There'll be tenderness in the air
She'll let you come just far enough
So you know she's really there
She'll look at you and smile
And her eyes will say
She's got a secret garden
Where everything you want
Where everything you need
Will always stay
A million miles away.
-Springsteen, of course.
If you come knockin late at night
She'll let you in her mouth
If the words you say are right
If you pay the price
She'll let you deep inside
But there's a secret garden she hides
She'll let you in her car
To go drivin round
She'll let you into the parts of herself
That'll bring you down
She'll let you in her heart
If you got a hammer and a vise
But into her secret garden, don't think twice
You've gone a million miles
How far did you get
To that place where you can't remember
And you can't forget
She'll lead you down a path
There'll be tenderness in the air
She'll let you come just far enough
So you know she's really there
She'll look at you and smile
And her eyes will say
She's got a secret garden
Where everything you want
Where everything you need
Will always stay
A million miles away.
-Springsteen, of course.
Heartbeat
Dogs are our link to paradise. They don't know evil or jealousy or discontent. To sit with a dog on a hillside on a
glorious afternoon is to be back in Eden where doing nothing was not boring - - it was peace. --Milan Kundera
Paint it White
It was a baptism of sorts,
From chairs
To life.
The white brought clarity.
Life is a canvas.
From chairs
To life.
The white brought clarity.
Life is a canvas.
Sailor's Yarn
"And this also," said Marlowe out of nowhere, "Has been one of the darkest places of the earth."
Joseph Conrad, The Heart of Darkness
Joseph Conrad, The Heart of Darkness
Dagny Never Shrugged
If you saw Atlas, the giant who holds the world on his shoulders, if you saw that he stood, blood running down his chest, his knees buckling, his arms trembling, but still trying to hold the world aloft with the last of his strength, and the greater his effort the heavier the world bore dow upon his shoulders, what would you tell him to do?" --Ayn Rand
Mephistophles Mourns
I made her out of loneliness
When the garden had fallen still
I sought in her an escape
From an Eden I never wanted
I let the world blame her
For the sweetness of her gift
I trace my fingers now
On the fateful, empty branch
I try and tell her my story
And ask for her forgiveness
I sit here, alone again
Shall I make another - -
How can I make another?
Moon Child Pablo Neruda, July 12
I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
The Moon Child
There are no bright stars in your galaxy
Moon child
Inconspicuous as you are
Only sign in zodiac
Lacking a planet
Ruled by a changeable moon.
Cancer - -
Even Cassandra's eyes widen
Placed by Hera
Adoration of Thetis
Goddess of the sea
Your ebb and flow
Powerful as it may be
Is still ruled by a gravitational need
To be understood by one.
Moon child
Inconspicuous as you are
Only sign in zodiac
Lacking a planet
Ruled by a changeable moon.
Cancer - -
Even Cassandra's eyes widen
Placed by Hera
Adoration of Thetis
Goddess of the sea
Your ebb and flow
Powerful as it may be
Is still ruled by a gravitational need
To be understood by one.
Not My Fault
Why should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great
Had they but courage equal to desire?
What could have made her peaceful with a mind
That nobleness made simple as a fire,
With beauty like a tightened bow, a kind
That is not natural in an age like this,
Being high and solitary and most stern?
Why, what could she have done, being what she is?
Was there another Troy for her to burn?
--William Butler Yeats
Lyrics that Haunt
Rave On, John Donne
--Van Morrison
Rave on, John Donne, rave on thy holy fool
Down through the weeks of ages
In the moss borne dark dank pools
Rave on down through the industrial revolution
Empiricism, atomic and nuclear age
Rave on down through time and space down
Through the corridors
Rave on words on printed page
Rave on, you left us infinity
And well pressed pages torn to fade
Drive on with wild abandon
Up tempo, frenzied heels
Rave on, Walt Whitman, nose down in wet grass
Rave on, fill the senses
On nature's bright green shady path
Rave on Omar Khayyam, rave on Kahlil Gibran
Oh, what sweet wine we drinkin'
The celebration will be held
We will partake the wine and break the holy bread
Rave on let a man come out of Ireland
And rave on, Mr.Yeats
Rave on down through thy holy Rosy Cross
Rave on down through theosophy and the golden dawn
Rave on through the writing of a vision
Rave on, rave on, rave on, rave on, rave on, rave on
Rave on, John Donne, rave on thy holy fool
Down through the weeks of ages
In the moss borne dark dank pools
Rave on, down though the industrial revolution
Empiricism and atomic and nuclear age
Rave on, on printed page
Rave on, rave on, rave on. . .
--Van Morrison
Rave on, John Donne, rave on thy holy fool
Down through the weeks of ages
In the moss borne dark dank pools
Rave on down through the industrial revolution
Empiricism, atomic and nuclear age
Rave on down through time and space down
Through the corridors
Rave on words on printed page
Rave on, you left us infinity
And well pressed pages torn to fade
Drive on with wild abandon
Up tempo, frenzied heels
Rave on, Walt Whitman, nose down in wet grass
Rave on, fill the senses
On nature's bright green shady path
Rave on Omar Khayyam, rave on Kahlil Gibran
Oh, what sweet wine we drinkin'
The celebration will be held
We will partake the wine and break the holy bread
Rave on let a man come out of Ireland
And rave on, Mr.Yeats
Rave on down through thy holy Rosy Cross
Rave on down through theosophy and the golden dawn
Rave on through the writing of a vision
Rave on, rave on, rave on, rave on, rave on, rave on
Rave on, John Donne, rave on thy holy fool
Down through the weeks of ages
In the moss borne dark dank pools
Rave on, down though the industrial revolution
Empiricism and atomic and nuclear age
Rave on, on printed page
Rave on, rave on, rave on. . .
Rave On, John Fowles
The supposed great misery of our century is the lack of time; our sense of that, not a disinterested love of science, and certainly not wisdom, is why we devote such a huge proportion of the ingenuity and income of our societies to finding faster ways of doing things - as if the final aim of mankind was to grow closer not to a perfect humanity, but to a perfect lightening flash. ---John Fowles
My Magdalene
In what appeared to be
Her last hour
Simple abdication:
"Let he who is without sin cast the first stone"
From the one man
Whom they all followed
What secret resentments must have ensued
The indignation that had to simmer
Because the favored one favored her
But never enough
To put an end to questions burning
Through time's corridors
Did he think simply by revealing himself first
In her eyes
It would be enough?
Her last hour
Simple abdication:
"Let he who is without sin cast the first stone"
From the one man
Whom they all followed
What secret resentments must have ensued
The indignation that had to simmer
Because the favored one favored her
But never enough
To put an end to questions burning
Through time's corridors
Did he think simply by revealing himself first
In her eyes
It would be enough?
First Crush
"I want you to faint. None of the fools you've ever known have kissed you like this, have they? Your Charles, or your Frank, or your stupid Ashley. . . With enough courage you can do without a reputation."
-Rhett Butler, Gone With The Wind
Dagny's Secret
Joy is the goal of existence, and joy is not to be stumbled upon, but to be achieved, and the act of treason is to let its vision drown in the swamp of the moment's torture.
---Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged
---Ayn Rand, Atlas Shrugged
Gatsby's Cowardice
Always seeking the ideal
the green light
the legacy that came with it
the girl
Always surrounding himself
in parties
in crowded adoration
in the middle of it all
Always in the past
reliving a memory
reliving childhood
reliving nothing at all
Always a single path
it had to be accepted
it had to fit in with what they all wanted
It had very little to do with his own true heart.
the green light
the legacy that came with it
the girl
Always surrounding himself
in parties
in crowded adoration
in the middle of it all
Always in the past
reliving a memory
reliving childhood
reliving nothing at all
Always a single path
it had to be accepted
it had to fit in with what they all wanted
It had very little to do with his own true heart.
Seeking the Green Light
And yet there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, a romantic readiness such as I've never found in any other person and which it is not likely I'll ever find again.
-F. Scott Fitzgerald on Jay Gatsby
Lost
I lose things in the night
Store heels in my oven, empty pizza boxes
In the fridge
Drawers might remain unopened
For months
I'm afraid sometimes
There are too many memories
I throw nothing away
Yet you keep asking.
Ophelia's Protest
Ophelia's Protest
On Stella Benson's 'Advice to the Unborn'
Goethe speaks of Ophelia's magic
Floating as she did, radiant amongst the forest
They all did -
So what little choice did she have
To live a legacy in pages,
in words
Beautiful moon child
Always a forest
But never a home.
Didn't they know
To me they were all the enemy
And love was selective -
Secret, even
Cherished.
So crowds bore no difference
The loneliness never mattered
And now I say it's you, not God
Who pierced me in the end.
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