freedom-rains

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And indeed there will be time To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?” Time to turn back and descend the stair, With a bald spot in the middle of my hair — (They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”) My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin, My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin — (They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”) Do I dare Disturb the universe? In a minute there is time For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. For I have known them all already, known them all: Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons, I have measured out my life with coffee spoons; I know the voices dying with a dying fall Beneath the music from a farther room.               So how should I presume? And I have known the eyes already, known them all— The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase, And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin, When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall, Then how should I begin To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways?               And how should I presume? And I have known the arms already, known them all— Arms that are braceleted and white and bare (But in the lamplight, downed with light brown hair!) Is it perfume from a dress That makes me so digress? Arms that lie along a table, or wrap about a shawl.               And should I then presume?               And how should I begin? Shall I say, I have gone at dusk through narrow streets And watched the smoke that rises from the pipes Of lonely men in shirt-sleeves, leaning out of windows? ... I should have been a pair of ragged claws Scuttling across the floors of silent seas. And the afternoon, the evening, sleeps so peacefully! Smoothed by long fingers, Asleep ... tired ... or it malingers, Stretched on the floor, here beside you and me. Should I, after tea and cakes and ices, Have the strength to force the moment to its crisis? But though I have wept and fasted, wept and prayed, Though I have seen my head (grown slightly bald) brought in upon a platter, I am no prophet — and here’s no great matter; I have seen the moment of my greatness flicker, And I have seen the eternal Footman hold my coat, and snicker, And in short, I was afraid. And would it have been worth it, after all, After the cups, the marmalade, the tea, Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me, Would it have been worth while, To have bitten off the matter with a smile, To have squeezed the universe into a ball To roll it towards some overwhelming question, To say: “I am Lazarus, come from the dead, Come back to tell you all, I shall tell you all”— If one, settling a pillow by her head               Should say: “That is not what I meant at all;               That is not it, at all.” And would it have been worth it, after all, Would it have been worth while, After the sunsets and the dooryards and the sprinkled streets, After the novels, after the teacups, after the skirts that trail along the floor— And this, and so much more?— It is impossible to say just what I mean! But as if a magic lantern threw the nerves in patterns on a screen: Would it have been worth while If one, settling a pillow or throwing off a shawl, And turning toward the window, should say:               “That is not it at all,               That is not what I meant, at all.” No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be; Am an attendant lord, one that will do To swell a progress, start a scene or two, Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool, Deferential, glad to be of use, Politic, cautious, and meticulous; Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse; At times, indeed, almost ridiculous— Almost, at times, the Fool. I grow old ... I grow old ... I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled. Shall I part my hair behind?   Do I dare to eat a peach? I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach. I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each. I do not think that they will sing to me. I have seen them riding seaward on the waves Combing the white hair of the waves blown back When the wind blows the water white and black. We have lingered in the chambers of the sea By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

“The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” by T.S. Eliot

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Still two of my favorite characters of all time

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Get to know me meme; [3/5] sad moments 

⇨“I love you. I love you. I love you. I’m sorry we couldn’t eat all those canelés. I’m sorry I hit you so much. I’m sorry I was so selfish. I’m so, so, so, so sorry.” (swknu)

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The last words of Austin Milton. Miss you dude. 11/16/15

My hearts beating so fast I guess this is normal

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heavenly bodies dance in the night moving waters cry out for contact with the mother they can never touch will I find my way home or move aimlessly on some great path reaching the end only to find the beginning

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Socially Awkward Bachelors, a novel by Jane Austen

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In a relationship, you need somebody who’s going to call you out, not somebody who’s going to let everything slide. You need somebody who doesn’t want to live without you, but can. Not somebody that is dependent, but somebody who is stronger with you. A relationship is two people, not one.

Unknown

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there is a pleasure in the pathless woods, there is a rapture on the lonely shore, there is society, where none intrudes, by the deep sea, and music in its roar: I love not man the less, but Nature more

Lord Byron

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I cannot make you understand. I cannot make anyone understand what is happening inside me. I cannot even explain it to myself.

Franz Kafka,  The Metamorphosis 

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But the pleasant thing is to wake early, throw open the window, and lie reading in bed.

Edward Fitzgerald, from a letter to W. F. Pollock, May 3, 1840

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Naegleria fowleri, the brain-eating amoeba

this happy little guy is the causative agent of primary amebic meningoencephalitis (PAM), a highly lethal brain infection transmitted through insufflation of stagnant fresh water — with a 95% case fatality rate, death typically occurs within five days of symptom onset

Naegleria accesses the brain through olfactory nerves, dissolving neural tissue into a hemorrhagic necrotic soup with its ironically smiley feeding structures (as seen above)

symptoms range from loss of smell and stiff neck to seizures, hallucinations, and respiratory failure from brain stem damage

it’s a microscopic horror story

credit: DT John and TB Cole, National Geographic