Prof.mary > Recent Status Updates

So far much less fantastic and more old than I expected

Creativity is on the side of health - it isn't the thing that drives us mad; it is the capacity in us that tries to save us from madness.

Fiction and poetry are doses, medicines. What they heal is the rupture reality makes on the imagination.
I had been damaged and a very important part of me had been destroyed - that was my reality, the facts of my life; but on the other side of the facts was who I could be, how I could feel, and as long as I had words for that, images for that, stories for that, then I wasn't lost.

Bears names is eluded with the linguistic theory of taboo deformation

The idea of having an internal and external “Es muss sien ” intrigues me. I always knew I had an internal one that shaped my life story with most power. The external one is something I have discovered only recently. While it’s not nearly as strong, I have a desire to be a good force in the society, to help lessen the sufferings and reduce pain and misunderstanding. Could this ever overpower my internal desire?

Now, perhaps, we are in a better position to understand the abyss separating Sabina and Franz: he listened eagerly to the story of her life and she was equally eager to hear the story of his, but although they had a clear understanding of the logical meaning of the words they exchanged, they failed to hear the semantic susurrus of the river flowing through them.

I am reminded to do as Darwin did: to wonder about the reality waiting behind our assumptions. Perhaps that unsightly bacteria is producing the oxygen you need to breathe. Perhaps that heartbreak will prove to be a gift, the hard edge off which you reluctantly bounce to find a better match. Perhaps even your dreams need examining. Perhaps even your hope… needs some doubt.

من کنار کره یی
که سراسر آن دریاست
به خاب رفته ام
در خطوط سرگردان دست تو
این گله هایی که از چرا باز می گردد.
ماهیان خاکستری،
ماهیان زاغ دیوانه،
ناشتا در سپیده ی سردسیر عزیمت کرده ند.
اگر باز هم بگویند فردا از تمام خاکسترها نان خاهند پخت،
من میپذیرم گه مذرعه ها سوخته ست.
در سر من
-آن جا گه جواهر تب را
بر اندیشه شن سنجاق میکنند-
ماه با فشار رگبار
به آخر برج می غلتد.