…lapsed, ma kolisin siia.
“You wanna know what living life to the fullest actually is? It’s waking up on a Monday morning with no complaints. It’s knowing you always deserve to laugh. It’s doing what feels right no matter what. It’s doing what you want to no matter how stupid you look. It’s about being yourself, because no one can tell you you’re doing it wrong.”
I am a lesbian and I was walking through a busy town holding my girlfriend’s hand. As usual, we were glared at and yelled at a lot. Then we passed a woman walking with her daughter, who was maybe 7 years old. The little girl asked her mom why two girls were holding hands, and we heard her say after we passed, “Because they love each other.”
- tundmatu
- Ma olen mõelnud, et peaks selle wordpressi mootori kuskil mõnusamas serveris tööle lükkama, sest tahaks oma käe järgi kujundada ja värki. Ja muusikat kirjutatu juurde.
- Praegu on liiga palju sisseelamist uude töösse, et millegi kõrvalisega tegeleda oleks selge lollus.
- Ürgmees oli nii elav tõestus, mismoodi on tunda, et mina, minu elu ei peegeldu siit kohe üldse. Ja et seepärast on The L Word mingis mõttes ajastu märk – seal olen mina, minu elu, asjad, millega ma samastun sõnu/termineid/mida iganes mõttes asendamata. See on pikem jutt.
- Liina, ma teen varsti uuesti selle asja, et ma lihtsalt tulen. Lihtsalt selleks, et sinu pärast tulla.
- Mu kirjutamisstiil on muutunud! Paremaks? Sõnu kasutan vähem ja kustutan ära, kui saab öelda lühemalt. Aga kui tahan, kirjutan ikka pikalt. Ja panen sisse palju kordi “ja” ning “aga”.
- Mul on arvutis kaust nimega Troy. Mona saab aru.
- Ma armastan Meryl Streep’i, sest ta kinkis mulle selle.
And I’m really sorry.
..ma ei suuda uskuda, kuidas ühe kuradi seriaali tegelaskuju on a) nii kuradi ideaalilähedane sellele, mida ma elust ootan; b) nii kuramuse minu enda moodi, et see on hirmutav.
Am I obsessed? Hell yeah. And happy with it!
“But there are certain people you love who do something else; they define how you classify what love is supposed to feel like. These are the most important people in your life, and you’ll meet maybe four or five of these people over the span of 80 years. But there’s still one more tier to all this; there is always one person you love who becomes that definition. It usually happens retrospectively, but it happens eventually. This is the person who unknowingly sets the template for what you will always love about other people, even if some of these loveable qualities are self-destructive and unreasonable. The person who defines your understanding of love is not inherently different than anyone else, and they’re often just the person you happen to meet the first time you really, really, want to love someone. But that person still wins. They win, and you lose. Because for the rest of your life, they will control how you feel about everyone else”.
Chuck Klosterman
Rohkem polegi öelda.
First they came for the Jews
and I did not speak out – because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for the communists
and I did not speak out – because I was not a communist.
Then they came for the trade unionists
and I did not speak out – because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for me -
and by then there was no one left to speak out for me.
See on pikem lõik ühest raamatust, aga… see on nii ilusvalus, et lööb hinge kinni.
To my unborn child: I haven’t always been silent, I used to talk and talk and talk and talk, I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, the silence overtook me like a cancer, it was one of my first meals in America, I tried to tell the waiter, “The way you just handed me that knife, that reminds me of -” but I couldn’t finish the sentence, her name wouldn’t come, I tried again, it wouldn’t come, she was locked inside me, how strange, I thought, how frustrating, how pathetic, how sad, I took a pen from my pocket and wrote “Anna” on my napkin, it happened again only two days later, and then again the following day, she was the only thing I wanted to talk about, it kept happening, when I didn’t have a pen, I’d write Anna in the air – backward and right to left – so that the person I was speaking with could see, and when I was on the phone I’d dial the numbers -2, 6, 6, 2 – so that the person could hear what I couldn’t, myself, say. “And” was the next word I lost, probably because it was so close to her name, what a simple word to say, what a profound word to lose, I had to say “ampersand,” which sounded ridiculous, but there it is, “I’d like a coffee ampersand something sweet,” nobody would choose to be like that. “Want” was a word I lost early on, which is not to say that I stopped wanting things -I wanted things more – I just stopped being able to express the want, so instead I said “desire”, “I desire two rolls,” I would tell the baker, but that wasn’t quite right, the meaning of my thoughts started to float away from me, like leaves that fall from a tree into a river, I was the tree, the world was the river. I lost “come” one afternoon with the dogs in the park, I lost “fine” as the barber turned me towards the mirror, I lost “shame” – the verb and the noun in the same moment, it was a shame. I lost “carry”, I lost the things I carried – “daybook,” “pencil,” “pocket change,” “wallet” – I even lost “loss.” After a time, I had only a handful of words left, if someone did something nice for me, I would tell him, “The thing that comes before ‘you’re welcome,’” if I was hungry, I’d point at my stomach and say, “I am the opposite of full,” I’d lost “yes,” but I still had “no,” so if someone asked me, “Are you Thomas?” I would answer, “Not no,” but then I lost “no,” I went to a tattoo parlor and had YES written onto the palm of my left hand, and NO onto my right palm, what can I say, it hasn’t made life wonderful, it’s made life possible, when I rub my hands against each other in the middle of winter I am warming myself with the friction of YES and NO, when I clap my hands I am showing my appreciation through the uniting and parting of YES and NO, I signify “book” by peeling open my clapped hands, every book, for me, is the balance of YES and NO, even this one, my last one, especially this one. Does it break my heart, of course, every moment of every day, into more and more pieces than my heart was made of, I never thought of myself as quiet, much less silent. I never thought about things at all, everything changed, the distance that wedged itself between me and my happiness wasn’t the world, it wasn’t the bombs and burning buildings, it was me, my thinking, the cancer of never letting go, is ignorance bliss, I don’t know, but it’s so painful to think, and tell me, what did thinking ever do for me, to what great place did thinking ever bring me? I think and think and think, I’ve thought myself out of happiness one million times, but never once into it. “I” was the last word I was able to speak out aloud, which is a terrible thing, but there it is, I would walk round the neighbourhood saying “I I I I.” “You want a cup of coffee, Thomas?” “I.” “And maybe something sweet?” “I.” “How’s about this weather?” “I.” “You look upset. Is anything wrong?” I wanted to say, “Of course,” I wanted to ask, “Is anything right?” I wanted to pull the thread, unravel the scarf of my silence and start again from the beginning, but instead I said, “I.” I know I’m not alone in this disease, you hear the old people in the street and some of them are moaning, “Ay yay yay,” but some of them are clinging to their last word, “I,” they’re saying, because they’re desperate, it’s not a complaint it’s a prayer, and then I lost “I” and my silence was complete.
“Time was passing like a hand waving from a train I wanted to be on. I hope you never think about anything as much as I think about you”
