In the dark we seemed able to say everything

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A sky which changes everyday and yet keeps it oplaine tones. Can life continue to unroll this way with a freshness never withered, new faces, new marvels? Can one arrive so many times at fullness without touching bottom, every year new leaves, new skins, new loves, new words. One day I wept at change, but then there is no death, there is this everlasting continuity, nothing is lost, it is transformed, or have I learned to walk magically over hot coals without burning my feet?

Annonser

Eleven kinds of loneliness

This bright cocktail mood was a carefully studied effect, he knew. So was her motherly sternness over the children’s supper; so was the brisk, no-nonsense efficiency with which, earlier today, she had attacked the supermarket; and so, later tonight, would be the tenderness of her surrender in his arms. The orderly rotation of many careful moods was her life, or rather, was what her life had become. She managed it well, and it was only rarely, looking very closely at her face, that he could see how much the effort was costing her. – Yates

My head is so far up in the clouds

Idag var jag och hämtade ut bilderna från Paris och Prag. Bläddrar igenom dem gång på gång, granskar varje liten detalj. Åh, jag vill tillbaka. Jag vill fota igen, vill till nya miljöer och vandra på nya gator, andas ny luft. Men framför allt vill jag fota. Fick till några riktigt fina porträtt på underbara Tereza. Sedan gatorna i Montmartre, med alla människor som går med paraplyerna uppfällda; allt ser så systematiskt ut. Den vackraste bokhandeln i Paris (kanske på hela jordklotet?)- Shakespeare and company, med tjejen som sitter i skräddarsits på en parkbänk utanför, totalt försjunken i sin bok, omedveten om att jag står och fotar henne. På väggen bakom henne har jag fått med ungefär hälften av vad någon har skrivit, förmodligen ägaren till bokhandeln. They call  me the Don Quixote of the latin quarter because my head is so far up in the clouds that i can imagine all of us are angels in paradise. And instead of being a bonafied bookseller I am more like a frustrated novelist. Store has rooms like chapters in a novel and the fact is Tolstoi and Dostoyevski are more real to me than my next door neighbors, and even stranger is the fact that even before I was born Dostoyevski wrote the story of my life in a book called ‘The idiot’ and ever since reading it I have been… 
 
Resten av texten hamnade utanför mitt fotografi. Resten förblir ett mysterium. Tills jag åker tillbaka och tar mer foton av Shakespeare and company. Under tiden skall jag tapetsera en hel vägg med mina bilder från Paris.

The wisest man ever known

 

Each venture is a new beginning, what there is to conquer has already been discovered, once or twice, or several times, by men whom one cannot hope to emulate, but there is no competition, there is only the fight to recover what has been lost and found and lost again and again. – T.S Eliot

Detta bär jag med mig, överallt och hela tiden; inte som ord på ett papper, utan som en känsla i bröstet. Att plocka fram när det behövs.