“What is there to confess that’s worthwhile or useful? What has happened to us has happened to everyone or only to us; if to everyone, then it’s no novelty, and if only to us, then it won’t be understood. If I write what I feel it’s to reduce the fever of feeling. What I confess […]
via ”I make landscapes out of what I feel.” — Time’s Flow Stemmed
s. d. stewart 
Special K
/ February 28, 2017In one of those rare and fantastic coincidences, I happened to be reading Pessoa’s The Book of Disquiet while in Lisbon. It was so easy to sink into the text, and to imagine Pessoa’s character/alter ego scribbling away in one of those narrow streets (and I found the main one mentioned in the book)– but it was also a jarring contrast to my absolute joy at being in a beautiful place among people who seemed friendlier as a whole than elsewhere. I’m still not sure how to take his truths, in terms of the emotional state in which I feel they’re pushing me, and where I’m not sure what ends are hoped for (action, stasis,…?).
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birds fly
/ February 28, 2017Must have been nice to have the geographic connection. I’ve only read excerpts from The Book of Disquiet so far, but yeah…action or stasis–certainly one of those important questions to dwell on.
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