syd > Recent Status Updates

omg

omggg each obscure soul WAS enveloped in audible shapes of light (as if it had always been so) !!! Luminosity in beings so endarkened!!!! Reminders of their humanity sitting like lead in the belly. See also: The freedom of birds is an insult to me. god I want 2 check in like every 10 pages. U would think she’d keep a notebook

“[…]and they rode infatuate and half fond toward the red demise of that day, toward the evening lands and the distant pandemonium of the sun.”

omggggg i forgot about smidrigaïlov it’s all just so JUICY. Love 2 prattle on about this at the bar like it’s fresh hot goss. Straight queening out bout my boy Fyodor xxxxx

ach!!!!! here it is !!! your worst sin is that you have destroyed and betrayed yourself for nothing!!!!!! gutting without the context. My god

who builds in stone seeks to alter the structure of the universe / The way of the world is to bloom and to flower and die but in the affairs of men there is no waning

malort hangover. Spiritually resonant

my sentiments oscillating wildly. Complained to a bartender at length on tuesday. Now I’ve slunk back to the beginning and am in awe. I never laid eyes on the man before today. Never even heard of him.

A struggle, would ya believe it, though I am finally picking up the rhythm of this one. Curt and quietly beautiful. Any given page, you’ll trip over a marvel of a sentence: “Itinerant degenerates bleeding westward like some heliotropic plague.” (82)

Part Four (Jaroslav) a dearly welcome change xx ludvik was feeding me rocks xxxxx

“I can sense my back touching the grassy earth. I feel it with my back. I support it on my back and beg it not to be afraid of being heavy and resting its full weight on me.” what an interesting man

“And here I lie, long and big, and I think how powerless I am.”

Woof

A younger Kundera, sure—certainly not juvenile. We’re feeling rather more Dostoevsky than Vonnegut here.

I’m awfully sentimental over his depictions of the suburbs of Ostrava; this incongruity of the destitute and the idyll reminds me dearly of home.

62 hit me like a truck. anyway

Interesting (and rather darling!) to see Milan’s own motifs already present, motif motif included. Recursive motif-ing. Motif-ception if u will

This is a far younger voice. Often needlessly acrobatic& a joy nonetheless. I’m reminded of a note I left in Brief Interviews With Hideous Men, something to the tune of ‘I am watching a man play racquetball with himself’