from 'A Season in Hell' by Arthur Rimbaud
On the road, on winter nights, no shelter, no clothes, no food, a voice would fasten on my heart:
'weakness and strength: the fact is you are here - that much is strength. You don't know where you're going or why. Go everywhere, answer every greeting. You're no more likely to get yourself killed than if you were already a corpse.'
In the morning my eyes would be so blank, my expression so dead, that people I encountered may not even have seen me.
Arthur Rimbaud - Selected Poems and Letters
Translated with an Introduction and Notes by Jeremy Harding and John Sturrock
Penguin Books, 2004, p. 147
We are surrounded by Nothing. Everywhere we go, we have no idea what we're not seeing. We don't know what gravitational fields look like, what dark matter looks like, what quantum foam looks like, what de Kooning's drawing looked like, but what the scientists and the artists are telling us, in their very different ways, is that if we lean in, and pay very close attention, sometimes what looks like Nothing is the best place to find the most interesting ... somethings.
“in a day and age of instant gratification and everything moving so fast, we wanted to do the exact opposite,” says sigur rós’s jónsi birgisson. “slow tv is counter-active to the world we live in, in that it happens in real time and real slow.”
wish i saw this live (streamed).
Tsukuru Tazaki, always cool and collected, always doing things at his own pace.
Tsukuru got up from the chair on the balcony and went inside. He took a bottle of Cutty dark Sark from a shelf, poured some into a glass, the carried it back out to the porch. He sat down again and, for a time, pressed the fingers of his right hand against his temple.
No, he thought, I'm not cool and collected, and I'm not always doing things at my ow pace. It's just a question of balance. I'm just good at habitually shifting the weight I carry around from one side of the fulcrum to the other, distributing it. Maybe this strikes others as cool. But it isn't an easy operation. It takes more time than it seems. And even if I do find the right balance, that doesn't lessen the total weight one bit.
From 'Colorless Tskukuru Tazaki' (2014) by Haruki Murakami, p. 294
And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days;
Then Heaven tries earth if it be in tune,
And over it softly her warm ear lays;
Whether we look, or whether we listen,
We hear life murmur, or see it glisten ...
―James Russell Lowell