一座演化中的島嶼

This is called destiny: being face to face
and nothing else, and always opposite
-- Rainer Maria Rilke

No more than one choice is permitted. He who creates cannot turn away from any existence; a single failing anywhere at all snatches him from the state of grace, makes him faulty through and through.
-- Rainer Maria Rilke

Soul receives from soul that knowledge, therefore not by book nor from tongue. If knowledge of mysteries come after emptiness of mind, that is illumination of heart.
-- rumi

It's hard to listen to a hard hard heart
Beating close to mine
Pounding up against the stone and steel
Walls that I won't climb
Sometimes a hurt is so deep deep deep
You think that you're gonna drown
Sometimes all I can do is weep weep weep
With all this rain falling down


Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
When I'm holding on underneath this shroud
Rain


Its hard to know when to give up the fight
Two things you want will just never be right
Its never rained like it has to night before
Now I don't wanna beg you baby
For something maybe you could never give
I'm not looking for the rest of your life
I just want another chance to live


Strange how hard it rains now
Rows and rows of big dark clouds
When I'm holding on underneath this shroud
Rain

Rainer Maria Rilke (1875-1926)


They don't bother me. They let me go my way.
They say that nothing can happen.
How nice.
Nothing can happen. Everything comes and circles
forever around the Holy Ghost,
around that certain ghost (you know)—,
how nice.


No, one truly mustn't think that there's
anything dangerous in this.
Of course, that's the blood.
The blood is the heaviest thing. The blood is heavy.
Sometimes I think I can't go on any more—,
(How nice.)


Ah, what is this a pretty ball;
red and round like an overall.
Nice, that you made it.
Will it come when one calls?


How all of this names itself rare,
driven together, flowing apart:
friendly, a little bit uncertain.
How nice.　　　　　　　 ...繼續閱讀

I must be
One of the devil's daughters
They look at me with scorn
I'll never hear their horn
Sometimes
It's like being in chains
Sometimes I hang my head
In shame
When people see me
They scandalize my name
I'm going down
To the devil's water
I'm gonna drown
In that troubled water
It's coming 'round my soul
It's way beyond control
I must be one
I must be one
I must be
One of the devil's daughters
They look at me with scorn
I'll never hear their horn
Sometimes it's like
Being in chains
Sometimes I hang my head
In shame
When people see me
They scandalize my name
I'm going down
To the devil's water
I'm gonna drown
In that troubled water
It's coming 'round my soul
It's way beyond control
I must be one
I must be one
I must be 　　　　

I have lost my silence, and the regret I feel over that is immensurable. I cannot describe the pain that invades a man once he has begun to speak. It is a motionless pain, that is itself pledged to muteness; because of it, the unbreathable is the element I breathe. I have shut myself up in a room, alone, there is no one in the house, almost no one outside, but this solitude has itself begun to speak, and I must in turn speak about this speaking solitude, not in derision, but because a greater solitude hovers above it, and above that solitude, another still greater, and each, taking the spoken word in order to smother it and silence it, instead echoes it to infinity, and infinity becomes its echo.
-- Maurice Blanchot