inertescapist

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If you see this you’re legally obligated to reblog and tag with the book you’re currently reading

[inertescapist]

You live like this, sheltered, in a delicate world, and you believe you are living. Then you read a book… or you take a trip… and you discover that you are not living, that you are hibernating. The symptoms of hibernating are easily detectable: first, restlessness. The second symptom (when hibernating becomes dangerous and might degenerate into death): absence of pleasure. That is all. It appears like an innocuous illness. Monotony, boredom, death. Millions live like this (or die like this) without knowing it. They work in offices. They drive a car. They picnic with their families. They raise children. And then some shock treatment takes place, a person, a book, a song, and it awakens them and saves them from death. Some never awaken.

The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Volume 1

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Absolutely insane lines to just drop in the middle of an academic text btw. Feeling so normal about this.

[ A Critical History of English Literature, Vol. 1, Prof. David Daiches, first published in 1960 ]

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they should invent a january that doesn’t make you go through every emotion known to mankind every day

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Goodbye Mr. Lynch I’ll see you in my dream

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“The more you throw black into a color, the more dreamy it gets…Black has depth. It’s like a little egress, you can go into it, and because it keeps continuing to be dark, the mind kicks in, and a lot of things that are going on there become manifest. And you start seeing what you’re afraid of. You start seeing what you love and it becomes like a dream…”

— David Lynch  (via ontheedgeofdarkness)

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david lynch understood on a fundamental level how abusive and exploitative the world is to those with the least power, particularly women and children. he created an entire lifetime's worth of cinematically and narratively groundbreaking work trying to grapple with that hostility and abuse, trying to reconcile the evil that exists in the hearts of everyday men with the goodness he saw there as well. he made survivors of unspeakable trauma feel seen and known in a way that few artists ever have and ever will, and never once shied away from the truth he knew and believed: that we are all innocent, that what has been done to you is not who you are, and even in times of abject despair, there are people who love you, who will not forget you or stop trying to save or defend or avenge you. i don't want that to go without notice. many people are mourning him for different reasons, and i agree, he was one of the greatest and most imaginative artists to ever be given free reign to paint on a cinematic canvas. but first and foremost, david lynch was an artist of enormous empathy, and i think those of us who saw ourselves in his work because of the empathy it afforded us are grieving particularly hard today.

his memory will always be a blessing.

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I like darkness and confusion and absurdity, but I like to know that there could be a little door that you could go out into a safe life area of happiness.

- David Lynch

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on some subconscious level i never even thought of david lynch as someone who could die

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i hope you were charmed by my tendency to fall into long silences

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Ermitage Saint-Antoine de Galamus, France - 2017

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Oh that two year gap on my resume was when I was the architect of my own hell

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It's always "I love you" and never "I've come to ask for your forgiveness. I had the temerity to tell you to examine your heart when all the time it was my own, but... it's shameful to be this age and still not know yourself."

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Anyways! *climbs out of the scattered and ruined debris of my feelings*

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“It is like an illness: the desire to see someone, the strong, deep yearning. No, I have not explained it. I was working today, writing. My head was busy: my mind was filled with the work. Yet all the while I was conscious of a physical pain–a gnawing–as if a piece of me had been cut off. And the mind could do nothing about it. It was physical: it was in the veins, in the blood, in the skin. That is why human relationships are dangerous–because the mind has no power over them.”

— Anais Nin

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Anaïs Nin, from a letter to Joaquin Nin, featured in Reunited: The Correspondence of Anais and Joaquin Nin, 1933-1940