Posts tagged words

Keep your hand off my settings." Her voice held bitter sharpness. "I don’t want to be awake.
Philip K. Dick - Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?
She would tell him that something in his smile had changed her, back when it shouldn’t have been possible for her to be changed.
Marissa Meyer
It’s so nice
to wake up in the morning
all alone
and not have to tell somebody
you love them
when you don’t love them
any more.
"Love Poem" - Richard Brautigan

While Waiting by Mahmoud Darwish

While waiting, I become obsessed with observing
the many possibilities: maybe she forgot her small
suitcase on the train, and my address got lost
and her mobile phone got lost, so she lost her appetite
and said: No share of the light drizzle for him /
Or maybe she got busy with an urgent matter or a journey
to the south to visit the sun, and called
but didn’t find me in the morning, because
I had gone to buy some gardenia for our evening 
and two bottles of wine /
Or maybe she was in dispute with her ex-husband 
over matters of memory, and she swore not to see
another man who might threaten her with making memories /
Or maybe she crashed into a taxi on the way
to see me, which extinguished some planets in her galaxy.
And she is still being treated with tranquilizers and sleep /
Or maybe she looked in the mirror before going out
of herself, felt two large pears
making waves on her silk, then sighed and hesitated:
Does anyone else other than myself deserve my womanhood /
Or maybe she ran, by coincidence, into an old 
love she hadn’t healed from, and joined him for dinner /
Or maybe she died,
because death loves suddenly, like me,
and death, like me, doesn’t love waiting

I am tired of Earth. These people. I am tired of being caught in the tangle of their lives.

Watchmen

The Things by Peter Watts

"A whole planet of worlds, and not one of them—not one—has a soul. They wander through their lives separate and alone, unable even to communicate except through grunts and tokens: as if the essence of a sunset or a supernova could ever be contained in some string of phonemes, a few linear scratches of black on white. They’ve never known communion, can aspire to nothing but dissolution. The paradox of their biology is astonishing, yes; but the scale of their loneliness, the futility of these lives, overwhelms me. "

You know how when you’re listening to music playing from another room? And you’re singing along because it’s a tune that you really love? When a door closes or a train passes so you can’t hear the music anymore, but you sing along anyway… then, no matter how much time passes, when you hear the music again, you’re still in exact same time with it. That’s what it’s like.
Music From Another Room