bladderwrack

La Foule: Basically my reaction to La Foule is 'You CANNOT go skiing in Switzerland in AUGUST ARGH wait is it even okay to demand this level of realism from an Ouran fic' |D

... this brought to you because I have been listening to the tribute mix on repeat, it's pretty cool.





Trying to occupy myself with things requiring a minimum of active engagement -- reading, mostly -- in an attempt to dampen emotional reactions, or to let them be elsewhere for a bit. My default state being one of sensory overload and inability to process, I'm drawn to people who have the ability to analyse, to speak of themselves from a distance. It's such a relief to be around them.




Why is the full stop a second function key on a French keyboard? Why is the arobase a third-function key, sob. OTZ

wordsofastory posted this a while ago. Putting it here for personal reference.



Monet Refuses the Operation by Lisel Mueller

Doctor, you say there are no halos
around the streetlights in Paris
and what I see is an aberration
caused by old age, an affliction.
I tell you it has taken me all my life
to arrive at the vision of gas lamps as angels,
to soften and blur and finally banish
the edges you regret I don't see,
to learn that the line I called the horizon
does not exist and sky and water,
so long apart, are the same state of being.
Fifty-four years before I could see
Rouen cathedral is built
of parallel shafts of sun,
and now you want to restore
my youthful errors: fixed
notions of top and bottom,
the illusion of three-dimensional space,
wisteria separate
from the bridge it covers.
What can I say to convince you
the Houses of Parliament dissolve
night after night to become
the fluid dream of the Thames?
I will not return to a universe
of objects that don't know each other,
as if islands were not the lost children
of one great continent. The world
is flux, and light becomes what it touches,
becomes water, lilies on water,
above and below water,
becomes lilac and mauve and yellow
and white and cerulean lamps,
small fists passing sunlight
so quickly to one another
that it would take long, streaming hair
inside my brush to catch it.
To paint the speed of light!
Our weighted shapes, these verticals,
burn to mix with air
and change our bones, skin, clothes
to gases. Doctor,
if only you could see
how heaven pulls earth into its arms
and how infinitely the heart expands
to claim this world, blue vapor without end.