Sometimes fate is like a small sandstorm that keeps changing directions. You change direction but the sandstorm chases you. You turn again, but the storm adjusts. Over and over you play this out, like some ominous dance with death just before dawn. Why? Because this storm isn’t something that blew in from far away, something that has nothing to do with you. This storm is you. Something inside of you. So all you can do is give in to it, step right inside the storm, closing your eyes and plugging up your ears so the sand doesn’t get in, and walk through it, step by step. There’s no sun there, no moon, no direction, no sense of time. Just fine white sand swirling up into the sky like pulverized bones. That’s the kind of sandstorm you need to imagine.
And you really will have to make it through that violent, metaphysical, symbolic storm. No matter how metaphysical or symbolic it might be, make no mistake about it: it will cut through flesh like a thousand razor blades. People will bleed there, and you will bleed too. Hot, red blood. You’ll catch that blood in your hands, your own blood and the blood of others.
And once the storm is over you won’t remember how you made it through, how you managed to survive. You won’t even be sure, in fact, whether the storm is really over. But one thing is certain. When you come out of the storm you won’t be the same person who walked in. That’s what this storm’s all about.” —Haruki Murakami (Kafka on the Shore)
and love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
with Grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.” —Mumford & Sons, “After The Storm” (via quote-book)
so my Nona died yesterday. my grandmother. my mom’s mom. she lived with us back home. anyway. i didnt really know how to feel about it. i still don’t i guess. i don’t really know any details or anything. i’m sad. i know that. but i’m also the only one that’s away from home. so i’m feeling pretty cut off from this whole thing. the only reason anyone has called me is to check on logistics… whens my flight getting in… where am i flying to… whats the number… when am i getting home… no one has really asked me how i am or what i feel about it or if im okay. no one but people i dont expect it from. my friends here at school have been awesome and my mom and my aunts have all called and asked (Nona’s daughters) but none of my siblings have. although Meridith did. which was nice. but i dunno. i feel like maybe people are mad at me for not being home. i havent talked to my brother at all and that’s weird for me. i don’t even know who is picking me up at the airport tomorrow. but i guess there are better/more important things to do right now then for people to be calling me. i’m a grown up now so i need to expect less people to check on me and i need to check on more people.
truthfully. i don’t really want to go home. i would much rather stay here and just keep trucking. but it doesn’t work that way. also i would be such a shit person if i stayed at school. holy mother of god. i could never. i would never.
but anyway. people just keep dying. and we just keep walking. but i’ve got some heavy boots today. some freaking heavy boots.
so Elton John and David Furnish named their kid Benjamin Jackson Levon Furnish-John.
as in “He was born a pauper to a pawn on a Christmas day, when the New York Times said God is dead and the war’s begun. Alvin Tostig has a son today… and he shall be Levon and he shall be a good man…”
it just made me soooo happy. the end.
I told you to be fine
I told you to be balanced
I told you to be kind
In the morning I’ll be with you
But it will be a different “kind”
I’ll be holding all the tickets
And you’ll be owning all the fines” — Skinny Love, Bon Iver