#linotte

[petaltexturedskies]

I shall live on dreams because reality is too cruel for me. I think I shall be the kind of person that nobody understands,

Anaïs Nin, Linotte: The Early Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1914-1920

[mellifleurs]

The Early Diary of Anaïs Nin (1920-1923) ♡

[linotte-miller]

I picked up the jjk character guide today, which lists Sukuna’s favorite activity as “eating” and I thought “well shit that’s pretty tragic, actually.”

Sukuna gets cranky in grocery stores. Most people wouldn’t notice because he is always some degree of cantankerous, but you notice, and perhaps that’s why he keeps you around.

Think about it—all those fluorescent lights, shining on four sets of eyes.

It confounds him, honestly—all the things people find excuses to need.

You used to make him guess the contents and purpose of each product. He hated that, and tolerated you.

“And this?”

“I don’t know, brat. Rabbits?” he says wearily.

“Cereal. What about this?”

He is always disappointed in the produce section.

“It’s a peach.”

“I know that.”

He scowls as he examines the fruit.

“It doesn’t taste the way it did a thousand years ago.”

“Hm?”

“Fruits, vegetables. All food, probably.”

“And?” You let him linger a minute, turning over the question in his head, still holding the peach in his hands. “I don’t know what you expect. You eliminate the seasons, you eliminate scarcity. There’s always a trade off, whether it’s sorcery or science, or any combination of the two.”

He shakes open the grocery bag and he hesitates.

“It grieves you.”

“That’s absurd.” He says, one set of eyes on you.

“And it still grieves you,” you press on. “I’m right. You know I’m right.”

“Fine,” he says, shoving the fruit in the bag. “Game, set, match, brat—don’t get cocky.”

You get the hell out of the store.

Yes I spend a lot of time crying in grocery stores why do you ask

[mote-historie]

Carlègle (aka Charles Émile Egli) or C.H. Roussel, Elegant lady with hat in profile (Dame élégante avec chapeau de profil), Illustration for the book Les Linottes, written by Georges Courteline, 1912.

Les Linottes: In the preface, the author describes the impetus which gave life to this novel - singular in his work - and where he returns to the childhood memories which permeate the entire book: "Of all the books that I have written , there is none who gave me more joy and sweetness in writing it than the one whose pages follow and whose each sentence, each line, each syllable is a reminder of the distant hours which were the beginnings of my life. It was in Montmartre that I lived these hours, as it seems that Montmartre and I were made for each other, from 1865 which saw me, my behind exposed to passers-by, busy patting pâtés of sand from the flat of my white wooden shovel, to 1871, a time when family life gave way for me to college life and the turbulent wandering of the street to the provincial sadnesses which were to rain down on me from 1871 to 1878, from top of Meaux Cathedral, with the hours, their halves and their quarters. » (x)

[t0rschlusspan1k]

I am too fond of dreaming. Is it because reality seems to me too sad? I am afraid so.

― Anaïs Nin, Linotte: The Early Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1914–1920  

[avidex]

Aude, 1er mai 2022

Linotte mélodieuse (mâle chanteur)

[slobbered]

I shall live on dreams because reality is too cruel for me. I think I shall be the kind of person that nobody understands.

-- Anaïs Nin, Linotte: The Early Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1914-1920

[flowerytale]

Linotte: The Early Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1914–1920

[laurapetrie]

I am very old fashioned, as if in reading all the books I have read there had developed in me a strange mixture of all the qualities and faults of girls of other centuries, which have become a part of myself.

Anais Nin, Linotte: The Early Diary (February 13, 1920)

[petaltexturedskies]

I shall never forget the way he once told me how my eyes seem to him. Oh! Little Diary, that meant so much—especially that I would be very sorry if I learned that my features, my face, are Me. What do those things matter? If he had never expressed anything except his enthusiasm for my eyes, he came close to the real Me—my emotions, my thoughts, my dreams, the things that don’t die and which are in my eyes as in a mirror—

Anaïs Nin, in a diary entry written circa June 1920 from “Linotte: The Early Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1914–1920”

[linotte-miller]

@papersirens suggested a "suguru is your pen pal" story and that has been living in my head rent free for weeks.

Anyway it's been a pretty exhausting week, I hope this still makes sense in my head. .....

Suguru spends most of his time on trains, shuttling himself from mission to mission, and then back again. Sometimes by himself, but not always. Still, he's finding himself alone much more often than he would like.

In theory, this gives him ample time to collect his thoughts, to re-read your letters and to compose a more thoughtful response. But he finds that he doesn't like what his mind says when it settles, so he's started drawing pictures instead.

Sunlight on an empty classroom. A snail. The cat that supposedly looks like Satoru–which Suguru assumes is a myth or more likely a prank at his expense. The alleged cat will not stay still long enough to get a picture (very unSatoru-like behavior), and although everyone else on campus has seen it accidentally, it cannot be bothered to cross paths with Suguru even when he goes looking… which is very on brand for Satoru now, unfortunately.

Suguru often draws the people he sees on the train. He usually throws in the cat, and if it's a particularly busy picture, he'll throw in a few curses. Not the grotesque ones, but the tamer, less threatening kind–curses that could plausibly pass as a Digimon, for example, or something similar. Sometimes you'll write back what you think they are; he's learned about all kinds of cartoon characters this way. But whenever you ask, he treats it like a bit of a Rorschach test:

"Is this supposed to be rush hour?" "On a bad day." "Morning or evening?" "Guess." "Hm… everyone's sleepy, so it must be morning…?" "Look closer." "…what's that gross-looking blob doing on a packed train car." "What blob?" "Top left, next to the students. It's got big eyes and weird wings?" "Interesting," he says, as if this wasn't his own artwork. "What do you think it is?" "It can't be an angel, can it? It's much too ugly…"

He plays it off with a light heart. But deep down, he's waiting for the day you admit to seeing the unseen. It doesn't have to be curses. If you could just see what's inside him, that would be enough.

[coovieilledentelle]

Si l'on entend par romantique quelqu'un qui rêve, je suis une romantique, mais je garderai le secret. Anaïs Nin- (Linotte Le premier journal d'Anaïs Nin)

[t0rschlusspan1k]

Life can no longer have any charm for me and I think that dreams, which so far have helped me to live, will be my only guide. And in moments of the deepest distress, I close my eyes and go to faraway lands where nothing can trouble the happy life that, so it seems, carries me...

Anaïs Nin, Linotte: The Early Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1914–1920

[ekman]

– Je vais vous le dire. Une fois pour toutes. Ce qui nous arrive à nous autres Français descendants de Français, c’est tout à fait dans l’ordre des choses.

– Une baisse de moral, Monsieur le Comte ?

– Tsss tsss. J’irai même plus loin, mon cher : ce qui risque d’arriver à l’humanité entière se justifie pleinement. Les Occidentaux ont complètement perdu le goût de vivre en crucifiant tout ce qui les retenait au sacré. Partout ils exhibent leurs tares et leurs vices. Ils se disent “fiers”. Tristes cloportes, incapables de réagir à la disparition programmée de leur vieille nation. Mais si ça se trouve, le processus va s’accélérer et prendre un chemin bien plus radical que l’asservissement à coups d’impôts, de normes, de flicage et de surinades. Les probabilités d’une guerre étendue à l’Est se confirment chaque jour. Décidément, ces Américains sont d’immondes salopards, et leurs vassaux ne valent pas mieux.

– Ah, vous aussi êtes inquiet de cette situation... Le fils du filleul de mon épouse qui est dans les transmissions, à un niveau que je ne puis divulguer, a prévenu ses parents d’un départ imminent à l’étranger, et pas besoin d’être grand clerc pour savoir de quelle région il parle.

– Vous voyez... Cent dix ans après la plus épouvantable catastrophe de l’histoire de ce continent, les veules crétins qui prétendent nous gouverner sont disposés à remettre le couvert. À cela près que la grosse Bertha d’aujourd’hui, si elle devait cesser de dissuader ces malades mentaux, cracherait des gigatonnes de souffle radioactif sur nos têtes de linottes. Et là, même si nos caves sont profondes, je crains que nous n’ayons le temps de vider tous les cols qui s’y trouvent.

– Ce serait fâcheux, Monsieur le Comte. Quand je pense que Monsieur le Comte votre père était parvenu à les soustraire à la connaissance de l’occupant d’avant... 

– Oh, vous savez, l’occupant d’aujourd’hui prétend ne pas boire d’alcool. Mais ça ne compte plus. Si tout cela doit péter, ils seront caramélisés ou cancérisés de la même façon. L’égalité par l’atome, quelle méchante farce !

– Vous avez raison d’en rire, Monsieur le Comte. De toutes les manières, nous n’aurions pas longtemps à pleurer.

– Je me demande qui portera le chapeau, cette fois. Les Danois, ces socialistes qui se prennent pour des vikings ? Les Polonais, ces abrutis de boutefeux ? Les Estoniens, ces acariatres acariens ? Le flamboyant inverti de l’Élysée, les fesses au chaud au dix-septième sous-sol du palais, en compagnie de son messieurs-dames ?

– Ha ha ! Quelle galerie ! C’est la magie de l’UE, Monsieur le Comte ! – Ce qui me contrarie le plus, c’est que l’atome n’a rien de sélectif. Cela nous condamne à périr avec ces ploucs. Vous rendez-vous compte ? Quel embarras que cette ultime promiscuité !

J.-M. M.

[89words]

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.

Anaïs Nin - diary entry featured in 'Linotte: The Early Diary Of Anaïs Nin (1914-1920)'

[dk-thrive]

I take pleasure in my transformations. I look quiet and consistent, but few know how many women there are in me.

Anaïs Nin, Linotte, the Early Diary of Anaïs Nin: 1927-1931 (Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, June 9, 2008) (via Make Believe Boutique)