Quinn > Recent Status Updates

… being sorry, pays, being sorry even, or especially, when one has no fault, is worth every self deprecating syllable the mouth allows. Because the mouth must eat.’

‘In the nail salon, sorry is a tool one uses to pander until the word itself becomes currency. It no longer merely apologizes, but insists, reminds: I’m here, right here, beneath you. It is the lowering of oneself so that the client feels right, superior, & charitable. In the salon one’s definition of sorry is deranged into a new word entirely, one that’s charged and reused as both power & defacement at once.

The Vietnamese I own is the one you gave me, the one whose diction and syntax reach only the second grade level. As a girl, you watched, from a banana grove, your school house collapse after an American napalm raid. At five, you never stepped into a classroom again. Our mother tongue, then, is no mother at all – but an orphan.’

He grabbed me by the shoulder and spun me to face him. “Look at me when I’m talking to you.” He was only nine but had already mastered the dialect of damaged American fathers.

…I imagine them flying from the blazed blasts unscathed their tiny, black & red wings jittering like debris that kept blowing, for thousands of miles across the sky, so that, looking up, you can no longer fathom the explosion they came from, only a family of butterflies, floating and clean, cool air, their wings finally after so many configurations fireproof.’

‘Sometimes I imagine the monarchs fleeing not winter, but the napalm clouds of your childhood in Vietnam.’

‘She grows up, too, with the memory of what it means to be properly loved, for what you are, not what you ought to be.’

‘…. it is estimated that somewhere between 25,000 and 60,000 Muslim and Croatian women were raped during the Bosnian war…’

It has been replaced by something else as if a robot has taken control of your body, making it move and react in her stead again it is happening to someone else and to her at the same time.

Suddenly, her body feels so heavy that she can hardly budge. Her movements are sluggish and hesitant, her brain is drained. She wants to scream. To shout. But her mouth is dry, not a single word finds its way through her constricted throat she wants to run away she really would run. If only she could step away if only she had the will to do so as notices that she no longer has a will of her own.

‘Even though it is happening right next to you, you don’t believe it. And even if you do believe it, you cannot dwell on it, it would be the end of you. You believe it only if you yourself see it. Perhaps this deliberate blindness is a form of self preservation.’

‘Perhaps this is the only way to survive, by living from one moment to the next. The continuous flow of time no longer exists for her, merely isolated moments, which are impossible to weave into a meaningful whole.’

… this book. No words. I both love and hate it. I need to finish it because reading it is so devastating.

‘He spoke with his parents in Swedish, and it wasn’t until many years later when a Swedish director he was working with pointed out how affectless his voice became when he switched into the language, that he recognized that he had unconsciously learned to adopt a certain tone when he talked to his parents, one emotionless and blunt, that was meant to echo their own.’

‘ when we are young and sensitive, we are also at our most hurtful; whereas when the blood begins to slow, when we feel less sharply, when we are more armoured and have learnt how to bear hurt, we tread more carefully.’

‘But time… How time first grounds us and then confound us. We thought we were being mature when we were only being safe. We imagine we were being responsible, but we were only being cowardly. What we called realism turned out to be a way of avoiding things rather than facing them. Time… Give us enough time in our best supported decisions will seem wobbly, our certainty whimsical.’

‘.. everybody can simply blame everyone else. But my desire to ascribe responsibility might be more of a reflection of my own cast of mind than a fair analysis of what happened. That’s one of the central problems of history, isn’t it? The question of subjective vs objective interpretation, the fact that we need to know the history of the historian to understand the version that is being put in front of us.’

‘ Indeed isn’t the whole business of a scribing responsibility a kind of cop out? We want to blame an individual so that everyone else is exculpated. Or we blame a historical process as a way of exonerating individuals. Or it’s all anarchic chaos, with the same consequence. It seems to me that there is -was-a train of individual responsibilities all of which were necessary, but not so long a chain that …’

‘… then put together a way of life on threateningly fuller, than that of our parents, who would approve, while privately comparing it to their own earlier lives, which had been simpler, and therefore superior. None of this, of course, was ever stated: the genteel social Darwinism of the English middle classes always remained implicit’

‘… it was sadly a determination that was fixed only on itself – determined to be determined. Once he got into that state, I think he viewed any kind of compromise as self betrayal, as if his whole being could be eroded and wiped away by the admission of a fault.’

‘My father exerted an emotional monopoly. His happiness tolerated no dissent when he was in a good mood. Everyone was supposed to be delighted to hear his long stories, laugh at his jokes and cheerfully partake in whatever project he had in mind… But whenever he was low or had been wronged, he made everyone pay for it. I have yet to see a face as determined as his was in anger…’

‘Most of us prefer to believe we are the active subjects of our victories, but only the passive objects of our defeats. We triumph, but it is not really we who fail - we are ruined by forces beyond our control.’

DNF - too much farm talk maybe I’ll come back to it someday