ezra

“There is a theory that watching unbearable stories about other people lost in grief and rage is good for you—may cleanse you of your darkness. Do you want to go down to the pits of yourself all alone? Not much. What if an actor could do it for you? Isn’t that why they are called actors? They act for you. You sacrifice them to action. And this sacrifice is a mode of deepest intimacy of you with your own life. Within it you watch [yourself] act out the present or possible organization of your nature. You can be aware of your own awareness of this nature as you never are at the moment of experience. The actor, by reiterating you, sacrifices a moment of his own life in order to give you a story of yours.”
― Anne Carson, Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides

“& remember, loneliness is still time spent with the world.”
― Ocean Vuong, Night Sky with Exit Wounds

“Perhaps, as we say in America, I wanted to find myself. This is an interesting phrase, not current as far as I know in the language of any other people, which certainly does not mean what it says but betrays a nagging suspicion that something has been misplaced. I think now that if I had any intimation that the self I was going to find would turn out to be only the same self from which I had spent so much time in flight, I would have stayed at home.”
― James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room

“In it, I was sitting across from my wife, who was nude but wrapped in a gauzy fabric. She had a clipboard in her hand, and was moving a pencil down it as if ticking off entries on a list.
"Where are you?" she asked.
"Devil's Throat," I said.
"What are you doing?"
"Carrying a basket through the forest."
"What's in the basket?"
I looked down, and there they were: four beautiful spheres.
"Two eggs," I counted. "Two figs."
"Are you sure?"
I did not look down again, afraid that the answer would change. "Yes."
"And what is through the forest?"
"I do not know."
"And what is through the forest?"
"I am not certain."
"And what is through the forest?"
"I cannot tell."
"And what is through the forest?"
"I don't remember."
"And what is through the forest?"
I woke up before I could answer.”
― Carmen Maria Machado, Her Body and Other Parties: Stories