Saturday, September 12, 2015

"In a fine country, in a sunny country,
Among the hills I knew,
I built a house for the wren that lives in the orchard,
And a house for you.

The house I built for the wren had a round entrance,
Neat and very small;
But the house I built for you had a great doorway,
For a lady proud and tall.

You came from a country where the shrubby sweet lavender
Lives the mild winter through;
The lavender died each winter in the garden
Of the house I built for you.

You were troubled and came to me because the farmer
Called the autumn "the fall";
You thought that a country where the lavender died in the winter
Was not a country at all.

The wrens return each year to the house in the orchard;
They have lived, they have seen the world, they know what's best
For a wren and his wife; in the handsome house I gave them
They build their twiggy nest.

But you, you foolish girl, you have gone home
To a leaky castle across the sea,-
To lie awake in linen smelling of lavender
And hear the nightingale, and long for me."

- Edna St. Vincent Millay
"There are things I have wanted so much and for so long, I would only consent to have them if I could keep wanting them."

Top of the list of things I would have said eventually, had they not already been said in a manner so faultless.

The sky is no man's land.

Monday, September 7, 2015


One doesn't play with fire, without expecting to get burnt. 

In doing so, the objective of the game is not to avoid damage. The whole point of the exercise, is to balance ones' instinct for survival against the predilection for self-destruction, and discover which one wins. The war, after all, is always internal.