Summer is never going to end...

Summer is never going to end..., originally uploaded by Mr San.

I'm thinking a lot about money and happiness these days. It is said that money doesn't buy happiness but I can't see how that would be. If I had millions of dollars I would be extremely happy. I'd be able to live how I want and not have to stress about where the next dollar is coming from. It is such a symptom of our society that many of us cannot be happy with what we have. I want to travel; I want to live where I want; I want to be happy. It seems like money would fix this. 

I don't know, but I want to be happier.

A Letter

Anais:

Don't expect me to be sane anymore. Don't let's be sensible. It was a marriage at Louveciennes—you can't dispute it. I came away with pieces of you sticking to me; I am walking about, swimming, in an ocean of blood, your Andalusian blood, distilled and poisonous. Everything I do and say and think relates back to the marriage. I saw you as the mistress of your home, a Moor with a heavy face, a negress with a white body, eyes all over your skin, woman, woman, woman. I can't see how I can go on living away from you—these intermissions are death. How did it seem to you when Hugo came back? Was I still there? I can't picture you moving about with him as you did with me. Legs closed. Frailty. Sweet, treacherous acquiescence. Bird docility. You became a woman with me. I was almost terrified by it. You are not just thirty years old—you are a thousand years old.

Here I am back and still smouldering with passion, like wine smoking. Not a passion any longer for flesh, but a complete hunger for you, a devouring hunger. I read the paper about suicides and murders and I understand it all thoroughly. I feel murderous, suicidal. I feel somehow that it is a disgrace to do nothing, to just bide one's time, to take it philosophically, to be sensible. Where has gone the time when men fought, killed, died for a glove, a glance, etc? (A victrola is playing that terrible aria from Madama Butterfly—"Some day he'll come!")

I still hear you singing in the kitchen—a sort of inharmonic, monotonous Cuban wail. I know you're happy in the kitchen and the meal you're cooking is the best meal we ever ate together. I know you would scald yourself and not complain. I feel the greatest peace and joy sitting in the dining room listening to you rustling about, your dress like the goddess Indra studded with a thousand eyes.

Anais, I only thought I loved you before; it was nothing like this certainty that's in me now. Was all this so wonderful only because it was brief and stolen? Were we acting for each other, to each other? Was I less I, or more I, and you less or more you? Is it madness to believe that this could go on? When and where would the drab moments begin? I study you so much to discover the possible flaws, the weak points, the danger zones. I don't find them—not any. That means I am in love, blind, blind. To be blind forever! (Now they're singing "Heaven and Ocean" from La Gioconda.)

I picture you playing the records over and over—Hugo's records. "Parlez moi d amour." The double life, double taste, double joy and misery. How you must be furrowed and ploughed by it. I know all that, but I can't do anything to prevent it. I wish indeed it were me who had to endure it. I know now your eyes are wide open. Certain things you will never believe anymore, certain gestures you will never repeat, certain sorrows, misgivings, you will never again experience. A kind of white criminal fervor in your tenderness and cruelty. Neither remorse nor vengeance, neither sorrow nor guilt. A living it out, with nothing to save you from the abysm but a high hope, a faith, a joy that you tasted, that you can repeat when you will. 

All morning I was at my notes, ferreting through my life records, wondering where to begin, how to make a start, seeing not just another book before me but a life of books. But I don't begin. The walls are completely bare—I had taken everything down before going to meet you. It is as though I had made ready to leave for good. The spots on the walls stand out—where our heads rested. While it thunders and lightnings I lie on the bed and go through wild dreams. We're in Seville and then in Fez and then in Capri and then in Havana. We're journeying constantly, but there is always a machine and books, and your body is always close to me and the look in your eyes never changes. People are saying we will be miserable, we will regret, but we are happy, we are laughing always, we are singing. We are talking Spanish and French and Arabic and Turkish. We are admitted everywhere and they strew our path with flowers. 

I say this is a wild dream—but it is this dream I want to realize. Life and literature combined, love the dynamo, you with your chameleon's soul giving me a thousand loves, being anchored always in no matter what storm, home wherever we are. In the mornings, continuing where we left off. Resurrection after resurrection. You asserting yourself, getting the rich varied life you desire; and the more you assert yourself the more you want me, need me. Your voice getting hoarser, deeper, your eyes blacker, your blood thicker, your body fuller. A voluptuous servility and tyrannical necessity. More cruel now than before—consciously, wilfully cruel. The insatiable delight of experience.

HVM

(Harry Miller to Anaïs Nin. Taken from Letters of Note)

I'll be back soon for actual blogging!

Post

There is another one of me out there somewhere. He is living the life I want. For all the non-belief I have, sometimes I will have another life after this one to be that other guy and be on his shoes for once.

Long

Long time, long life, long day, long term; so many "longs". When I typed the title I was thinking of a long time. It seems to me that life is a series of important or looked forward to events joined together by the dreariness of living. I am looking forward to travelling in September and as the event gets closer, I think about afterwards and the inevitable back-to-sameness of my life. I suppose if I think about it too much it can be a depressing thing.

Life is long, but the true joys in life a short things.

I love life and wouldn't give it up, but I always want more. The true secret to a great life is learning to accept what you have and not to think the grass is greener on the other side. It seldom is.

The Golden Fish in the Apple

Along time ago there was a golden fish his nine was free. Fred didn't like being a fish he wanted to be human and live in a house on the land. When you try to Will on the beach he found he could not breeze as I had to rush back to the water quickly. He wished with all his might that he could become a human and leave the terrible seat. Poseidon ahead his Priehs and kind to him. Facebook Fred I grungy you wish to become a human go to the beach and breeze for! Fred thanks Poseidon and walk to the beach with his new legs. They're waiting for him was a dog the dog's time was Gunther. The dog took one look at the delicious looking human and I. The golden fish was going to Gunther was satisfied. Tomorrow the story is never to wish your human was delicious looking.

The end




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Auckland,New Zealand

The King and the Bush

Once upon a time there was a canine Jeremy he wasn't wise and good king but very ugly. He wanted to want to watch a older women in the Kingdom were very scared all of his ugly face. Finally Jeremy just wanted to marry a tree's trees did not care how he looked. He found a lovely Rhododendron bush and they were happily married. After three years of trying Bayhead hello my lovely children and 16 roses. The people of the kingdom was scared and they will lift in a hurry. Jeremy didn't care as he had his Rhododendron bush and his children. And they lived happily ever asked up until winter when his wife going.

The end.




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Auckland,New Zealand

Three Dogs

I'm changing it up a bit today. I have a new iPad and it has speech to text. I told the iPad some stories and here's what it wrote... I even drew a picture to go along with it!

Once upon a time there were three dogs their names with Heidi Jimmy and him both. They had many adventures chasing cats up trees in chasing fish and likes. One day Heidi drank a whole lake. And the other dogs locked at her and she went to hospital. She died and became a ghost they were very sad! Whenever they saw I like again they voice remembered Heidi and was sad. Does party one multi and became a millionaire.

The end.




- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad

Location:Auckland,New Zealand