TRUTH

“I was going to die, sooner or later, whether or not I had even spoken myself. My silences had not protected me. Your silences will not protect you.... What are the words you do not yet have? What are the tyrannies you swallow day by day and attempt to make your own, until you will sicken and die of them, still in silence? We have been socialized to respect fear more than our own need for language."

I began to ask each time: "What's the worst that could happen to me if I tell this truth?" Unlike women in other countries, our breaking silence is unlikely to have us jailed, "disappeared" or run off the road at night. Our speaking out will irritate some people, get us called bitchy or hypersensitive and disrupt some dinner parties. And then our speaking out will permit other women to speak, until laws are changed and lives are saved and the world is altered forever.

Next time, ask: What's the worst that will happen? Then push yourself a little further than you dare. Once you start to speak, people will yell at you. They will interrupt you, put you down and suggest it's personal. And the world won't end.

And the speaking will get easier and easier. And you will find you have fallen in love with your own vision, which you may never have realized you had. And you will lose some friends and lovers, and realize you don't miss them. And new ones will find you and cherish you. And you will still flirt and paint your nails, dress up and party, because, as I think Emma Goldman said, "If I can't dance, I don't want to be part of your revolution." And at last you'll know with surpassing certainty that only one thing is more frightening than speaking your truth. And that is not speaking.”

-Audre Lorde

“A Litany for Survival-Audre Lorde

For those of us who live at the shoreline
standing upon the constant edges of decision
crucial and alone
for those of us who cannot indulge
the passing dreams of choice
who love in doorways coming and going
in the hours between dawns
looking inward and outward
at once before and after
seeking a now that can breed
futures
like bread in our children's mouths
so their dreams will not reflect
the death of ours:

For those of us
who were imprinted with fear
like a faint line in the center of our foreheads
learning to be afraid with our mother's milk
for by this weapon
this illusion of some safety to be found
the heavy-footed hoped to silence us
For all of us
this instant and this triumph
We were never meant to survive.

And when the sun rises we are afraid
it might not remain
when the sun sets we are afraid
it might not rise in the morning
when our stomachs are full we are afraid
of indigestion
when our stomachs are empty we are afraid
we may never eat again
when we are loved we are afraid
love will vanish
when we are alone we are afraid
love will never return
and when we speak we are afraid
our words will not be heard
nor welcomed
but when we are silent
we are still afraid
So it is better to speak
remembering
we were never meant to survive.”

PROFESSIONAL MAN THE GREATEST WEBCOMIC

http://caseyweederman.drackir.com/
See here for more!!!!!!!!

Quotes of my day today.

“Sometimes when I look at you, I feel I'm gazing at a distant star.
It's dazzling, but the light is from tens of thousands of years ago.
Maybe the star doesn't even exist any more. Yet sometimes that light seems more real to me than anything.”
― Haruki Murakami, South of the Border, West of the Sun


“Lost opportunities, lost possibilities, feelings we can never get back. That's part of what it means to be alive. But inside our heads - at least that's where I imagine it - there's a little room where we store those memories. A room like the stacks in this library. And to understand the workings of our own heart we have to keep on making new reference cards. We have to dust things off every once in awhile, let in fresh air, change the water in the flower vases. In other words, you'll live forever in your own private library.”
― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

"If you expect nothing from anybody, you’re never disappointed."

Sylvia Plath

“I have this strange feeling that I'm not myself anymore. It's hard to put into words, but I guess it's like I was fast asleep, and someone came, disassembled me, and hurriedly put me back together again. That sort of feeling.”
― Haruki Murakami, Sputnik Sweetheart

“Narrow minds devoid of imagination. Intolerance, theories cut off from reality, empty terminology, usurped ideals, inflexible systems. Those are the things that really frighten me. What I absolutely fear and loathe.”
― Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

All your life people will tell you things. And most of the time, probably ninety-five percent of the time, what they'll tell you will be wrong."

Michael Crichton


"You were not there for the beginning. You will not be there for the end. Your knowledge of what is going on can only be superficial and relative."

William Burroughs

"Closure is a greasy little word which, moreover, describes a nonexistent condition. The truth, Venus, is that nobody gets over anything."

Martin Amis

YES YES YES YES YES YES

http://www.stumbleupon.com/su/4JhGFq/:1prSXmtG.:KFeTCt8W/www.hanneblank.com/blog/2011/06/23/real-women/


TRUTH

WHEN THE NIGHT WIND HOWLS by: W.S. Gilbert

WHEN the night wind howls
In the chimney cowls,
And the bat in the moonlight flies,
And the inky clouds,
Like funeral shrouds,
Sail over the midnight skies--

When the footpads quail
At the night-bird’s wail,
And black dogs bay at the moon,
Then is the spectre’s holiday--
Then is the ghost’s high noon!

Ha! Ha!

Then is the ghost’s high noon!

As the sob of the breeze
Sweeps over the trees
And the mists lie low on the fen,
From grey tomb-stones
Are gathered the bones
That once were women and men,

And away they go,
With a mop and a mow,
To the revel that ends too soon,
For cock crow limits our holiday--
The dead of the night’s high noon!

Ha! Ha!

The dead of the night’s high noon!

And then each ghost
With his ladye-toast
To their church yard beds take flight,
With a kiss, perhaps,
On her lantern chaps,
And a grisly grim, “good night!”

Till the welcome knell
Of the midnight bell
Rings forth its jolliest tune,
And ushers in our next high holiday--
The dead of the night’s high noon!

Ha! Ha!

The dead of the night’s high noon!

Night Vision-Sonnet L'abbe

His wife dreams of silent flight

On a drive on narrow roads
outside the city
she points to the red horizon,
where the sun, a hydrogent zepplin,
akin aflame, lingers
inflated and floating along the highway,
as black silhouettes of balloons
rise with the moon
into the flushed sky.

Look, she says, twilight wears
a necklace of weightless onyx tears,
the moon a pendant, opal planet.

He replies that to him
they are round bellied bottles,
necks down, pured out
and hollow.
Baskets cling to their pouted lips,
like drops of liquor,
drips of euphoria tinged
with fear, last sips
of liquid attitude, from where
one looks upon the vastness
and see's the flat horizons curve.

Must you see pots in everything?
her sigh, the hush of fire.

But he has lied
what he really sees tonight
are question marks
in their distant outline, doubled
and considering their own reflections,
a darkness inside them empty
as the negative goblet
of space between two facing profiles
They are wondering
how we travel so far
on warm wordless breaths,
and aking themselves
who they are.

"I took my morning walk, I took my evening walk, I ate something, I thought about something, I wrote something, I napped and dreamt something too, and with all that something, I still have nothing because so much of somethings has always been and always will be you. I miss you."

Mark Z. Danielewski

The sun, whose rays Are all ablaze With ever-living glory,
Does not deny His majesty He scorns to tell a story!
He don't exclaim, "I blush for shame, So kindly be indulgent."
But, fierce and bold, In fiery gold, He glories all effulgent!
I mean to rule the earth, As he the sky
We really know our worth, The sun and I!
Observe his flame, That placid dame,
The moon's Celestial Highness;
There's not a trace Upon her face Of diffidence or shyness:
She borrows light That, through the night, Mankind may all acclaim her!
And, truth to tell, She lights up well, So I, for one, don't blame her!
Ah, pray make no mistake, We are not shy;
We're very wide awake, The moon and I

W.S Gilbert