solivagant
“A great book allows me to leap over that wall: in a deep, significant conversation with another consciousness, I feel human and unalone.”
Does discontent pull you downward—or does the decent commence and discord follows?
Head or heart, what comes first doesn’t really matter. The study of the placement of things is not nearly as interesting as the overall effect. I do not need to know what it was and what it is to become. I prefer to step back to absorb the entire scope of the presentation rather than get hung on each line.
I was young and I will eventually get old. I have life today and death will follow.
I don’t care about the details. I could be old today and youthful tomorrow! Upset to the order is where the artistry begins; the assembly. What items to connect; what pieces to choose; the selection is a summary of its creator.
To move the assemblage point and shift the perspective, one must alter the presentation of the same things. Over and over, the wheel was made once. The form it takes cannot be changed. A circle with spokes. Where it becomes exciting and innovative is how the wheel is presented. The context transforms.
My immediate liking is to be hidden in a busy room. Invisible yet standing in plain view. Obscure in the blunt delivery of wisdom. Juxtapositions are my fancy. I live for the line where incongruous elements converge.
I am in constant conversation with my compatriots. Clarice Lispector. Simone Weil. Ayn Rand. Sylvia Plath. Natalie Ginzburg. I remain unrecognized yet feel whole in our one-way discussions. I never tire of the pontification.
Writers who share my penchant for abstract intellectualism, over-indulgence in the sensory, faulty narrators, unsympathetic protagonists, and an egoic air that lends itself to those who have met themSelves in their darkest hour.
These are my people.
A blend of emotional revelations and acute self-reflection, writing that exposes the middle ground where the head and the heart meet is the truest narrative. Unfettered by common tropes, literary formula, or appeasing the reader, such writing has moved past the linear analysis into the unknown.
The head bows to the heart, and the heart leaps up to be held and examined.
Photo source.
