Elsa Morante and Alberto Moravia, 1940s, Italy.
Song of Myself:
If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand on my hip,
And in due time you shall repay the same service to me,
For after we start we never lie by again.
(Walt Whitman)
It was the ghost ship that didn’t carry us. There’s nothing to do but salute it from the shore.
On life decisions, and re-reading old Dear Sugar columns.
In which David Foster Wallace’s self-help becomes my own self-help
“There is, in writing, a certain blend of sincerity and manipulation, of trying always to gauge what the particular effect of something is gonna be,” he [David Foster Wallace] said. “It’s a very precious asset that really needs to be turned off sometimes. My guess is that writers probably make fun, skilled, satisfactory, and seemingly considerate partners for other people. But that the experience for them is often rather lonely.
“I’ve never really taken a break from a relationship by choice, but having just finished a two and a half year relationship with a truly exhausting and sad ending I think maybe it’s time I did. I enjoy my own company and deep down I know its the pressure to be with someone that is the main reason I mostly am. I want to learn to feel valid and loved outside of a relationship, which will obviously make my chances of making the next one work much better.”
David Foster Wallace, in conversation with David Lipsky. From the book Although Of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself: A Road Trip with David Foster Wallace.
Anyone who has been in a bad marriage [relationship?] knows that its defining characteristic is the unspeakable loneliness in which one feels shrouded, a sense of isolation amplified by not being alone.
—Dominique Browning
(Source: The New York Times)
Call for Submissions: Love Poems (?!)
Greetings from Hell Yes. We’re reading submissions for our next project: an anthology of love poems on cassette.
Why love poems? Because they never go out of style. Your poems can be pro-, anti-, or ambivalent.
Why a cassette? Because we like art that makes you work a little bit. We like the idea of you scrounging up an old Walkman, sitting in your car, or going to the local library to listen to poets read their poems. In a time when we’re all distracted, hopefully this slows us down.
The details: Email us a recording of you reading your poem(s) (via whatever options you have on your computer—e.g., GarageBand) and a copy of the text. We’ll do the rest.
Soft deadline: January 16th. Then however long it takes to physically make them.
Send to: hellyespress@gmail.com
how come my dog can’t be this cute?
(via krstnwrdn)
There is, in writing, a certain blend of sincerity and manipulation, of trying always to gauge what the particular effect of something is gonna be. It’s a very precious asset that really needs to be turned off sometimes. My guess is that writers probably make fun, skilled, satisfactory, and seemingly considerate partners for other people. But that the experience for them is often rather lonely.
—David Foster Wallace (as interviewed by David Lipsky)
It ought to be illegal for an artist to marry. If the artist must marry let him find someone more interested in art, or his art, or the artist part of him, than in him. After which let them take tea together three times a week.
—Ezra Pound (via sandhog)
