fernando pessoa, the book of disquiet | richard siken, crush | clarice lispector, água viva | clarice lispector, the passion according to g.h. | clarice lispector, the hour of the star | fernando pessoa, i am the escaped one | fernando pessoa, the book of disquiet | richard siken, crush | clarice lispector, água viva
I cannot believe we are so poorly made as that. Incapable of surviving in the state to which we are born. Grown so used to the yoke that there can be no progress without it.
I’m having an absolute ball on this bitch (the bitch in question being the idea of the ofmd crew and the bs squad going on little allegorical journeys together to teach each other important lessons about friendship and being yourself and the importance of violent resistance in the face of colonialist oppression)
This story happened a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. It is already over. Nothing can be done to change it.
It is a story of love and loss, brotherhood and betrayal, courage and sacrifice and the death of dreams. It is a story of the blurred line between our best and our worst.
It is the story of the end of an age.
A strange thing about stories—
Though this all happened so long ago and so far away that words cannot describe the time or the distance, it is also happening right now. Right here.
It is happening as you read these words
— Star Wars: Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, by Matthew Stover
three episodes ago you pretended not to know who he was just because it was funny and in three episodes time you will or will have not thrown him over the side of your ship
max and silver disastrously checking in with each other like once or twice a season to witness each other's parallel arcs. they say oh wow have power and love corrupted you irrevocably yet 😌 ? and the answer is always yes btw 💞
I think in both sides you see Silver struggling to– in a way wishing he could be someone else and maybe someone bigger and maybe someone with more, maybe someone more like Flint or more like these other people around him, but being that awful feeling when you know you just aren't or can't do that thing and can’t go to that place within yourself, and people have that in life and people have it in relationships all the time, when you’re going “fuck, I wish I could go there. I wish I could be there with you on this thing and it's just not in me”. (Luke Arnold)
In my imagination there's a Black Sails video game where Silver is the player character and as you get further into it there start to be glitches where you click a dialogue/action option and he does something else, and at the very end after the final boss at Skeleton Island your last choice is what to do with Flint and when you decide the game suddenly crashes and self-deletes every single file except for one .txt that just says 'you know of me all I can bear to be known.'
I think ghosts are memory—memory haunts bodies, haunts places, haunts the narratives that hold our minor and miraculous lives together. Ghosts are that which return and return and return. The body has its own hauntings, too: phantom limb sensation, organ transfer memory, the traumatic self. And others.