Annabel

“It is certain that a book is not harmless merely because no one is consciously offended by it.”
― T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

“Yawn...

I believe that I love sleep
much more than anybody I’ve ever
met.
I have the ability to sleep for
2 or 3 days and
nights.
I will go to bed at any given
moment.
I often confused my girlfriends
this way—
say it would be about onethirty
in the afternoon:
“well, I’m going to bed now, I’m
going to sleep…”
most of them wouldn’t mind, they
would go to bed with me
thinking I was hinting for
sex
but I would just turn my back
and snore off.
this, of course, could explain
why so many of my girlfriends
left me.
as for doctors, they were never
any help:

“listen, I have this desire to
go to bed and sleep, almost all
the time.
what is wrong with
me?”
“do you get enough exercise?”
“yes…”
“are you getting enough
nourishment?”
“yes…”
they always handed me a
prescription
which I threw away
between the office and the
parking lot.
it’s a curious malady
because I can’t sleep between
6 p.m. and midnight.
it must occur after
midnight
and when I arise
it can never be
before noon.
and should the phone ring
say at 10:30 a.m.
I go into a mad rage
don’t even ask who the caller
is
scream into the
phone: “WHAT ARE YOU

CALLING ME FOR AT THIS
HOUR!”
hang
up…
every person, I suppose, has
their eccentricities
but in an effort to be
normal
in the world’s
eye
they overcome them
and therefore
destroy their
special calling.
I’ve kept mine
and do believe that
they have lent generously to
my existence.
I think it’s the main reason I
decided to become a
writer: I can type
anytime and
sleep
when I damn well
please.”
― Charles Bukowski

“A condition of complete simplicity
(Costing not less than everything)”
― T.S. Eliot, Four Quartets

“Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden.
Time present and time past
Are both perhaps present in time future
And time future contained in time past. (I)
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage which we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden. My words echo
Thus, in your mind.
But to what purpose
Disturbing the dust on a bowl of rose-leaves
I do not know. (I)
Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind
Cannot bear very much reality.
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present.
Go, said the bird, for the leaves were full of children,
Hidden excitedly, containing laughter.
Go, go, go, said the bird: human kind
Cannot bear very much reality.
Time past and time future
What might have been and what has been
Point to one end, which is always present. (I)
At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is...
At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless;
Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is,
But neither arrest nor movement.
And do not call it fixity,
Where past and future are gathered. Neither movement from nor towards,
Neither ascent nor decline. Except for the point, the still point,
There would be no dance, and there is only the dance.
I can only say, there we have been: but I cannot say where
And I cannot say, how long, for that is to place it in time. (II)
All is always now.
Time past and time future
Allow but a little consciousness.
To be conscious is not to be in time
But only in time can the moment in the rose-garden,
The moment in the arbour where the rain beat,
The moment in the draughty church at smokefall
Be remembered; involved with past and future.
Only through time time is conquered. (II)
Words move, music moves
Only in time; but that which is only living
Can only die. Words, after speech, reach
Into the silence. (V)
Or say that the end precedes the beginning,
And the end and the beginning were always there
Before the beginning and after the end.
And all is always now. Words strain,
Crack and sometimes break, under the burden,
Under the tension, slip, slide, perish,
Will not stay still. (V)
Desire itself is movement
Not in itself desirable;
Love is itself unmoving,
Only the cause and end of movement,
Timeless, and undesiring
Except in the aspect of time
Caught in the form of limitation
Between un-being and being. (V)”
― T. S. Eliot, Four Quartets