jorjee > Recent Status Updates

You don’t get red kites in East Anglia

ah the wrong form, not so good aesthetically!

i decidedly do not understand why hurling binns at people, according to all the rules of siege warfare, is a more respectable form. Fear of aesthetics is the first sign of powerlessness!

never swear yourself to what has gone in between two lovers. there’s always a little corner here that’s always unknown to the whole world and is only known to the two of them.

sitting side by side, sad and crushed, as if they had been washed up alone on a deserted shore after a storm.
he suddenly felt it heavy and painful to be loved like that. it was a strange and terrible feeling!

his pale smile told of something powerless and incomplete.

p292 pyotr petrovich
why do men always fantasise about helpless women and their eternal gratitude (see: obedience)

in the victorian times, letter-writing was the foremost means of communicating with your friends. you would know and be able to recognise their hand-writing almost better than their own face.

thoughts upon rapid re-read on the train ahead of tutoring

i like how the plot relies on utterson’s reliability and steadfast character. his curiosity about lanyon’s letter is trumped by his professionalism, and so the mystery continues. character traits as a plot catalyst (or opposite of catalyst)

tend to ignore blurbs so i can read books without spoilers or being influenced by what it’s “about” but i have read this one & honestly very misleading?
not in a bad way but it’s not specially about elom & his boyfriend. i’m nearly halfway through and elom is not even out yet. it’s a family saga, the first quarter is about abena and kodzo. it’s really good and i think the blurb sells it short

clem lived in a heightened reality, where the world was constructed by her conversations - dramatic and hyperbolic… debates became “shouting matches”, tipsy friends were “wasted”

mothers weren’t the only ones who bonded with their babies through their bodies; that he would barely be a father if he left his son physically untethered to his history (circumcision)

some essence emanating from the stove sapped their ability to talk in the same way the men did on the other side of the kitchen wall

walking between compounds and villages, finding dinner and a bed at the closest aunty’s house as night began to fall

i’m afraid of people who aren’t afraid of people dying

whatever it is to be understood, ginseng nodded p.145

they tell me your are happy in love. that is everything, is it not, or nearly everything?

so through a world of piety i made my way to sebastian p.59

hot spring of anarchy p.45

he dined with proust… he has aroused three irreconcilable feuds in Capri… he has practiced black art in cefalu, had been cured of drug-taking in california and of an oedipus complex in vienna p.47

i may be inverted but i am not satiable. come back when you are alone. p.50

in those days people used to say he was a little bitch p.51

All had their hands outstretched. They had come down from the back mountains and higher places to hold for their their hands for something they thought civilisation could offer , and they never dreamed the sadness and the poor broken delusion of it. p.273

it was the denver night; all i did was die p. 164

why is there no woman on the road? maybe there is. understandably a male dominated genre for the reality of solo and spontaneous travel but wouldn’t it be good

her beautiful body was matched only by her idiot mind p143

to have no definition in the world, no role and no reason. to be no longer even decorative.

nowadays, she only bit her tongue, like every other woman she has ever known

I was planning to not write down quotes because i knew there would be too many and i would never finish, but i digress

I shut my eyes, and the music broke over me like a rainstorm p.103

a child can long for a parent in a way that a parent can never long for a child. he was fully formed when i was born while i have always been missing a father

things died in their usual way- the plants, the sunlight

i was squeezing from my eyes shut at the gathering darkness, as if the gathering darkness cared that i couldn’t see it.

‘ma’am’ said cardingham and it has such strong connotations of bitch i was distracted

he filled the room like a horizon

my brain balanced on unconsciousness like an insect’s food on the meniscus of a pond