If a lone feather fell from the sky,
like a paper plane wafting down
from a tree house where a quiet boy
has been known to hide,
you might think message or perhaps
mischief, not just some midair
molting of a bird.
But what if many feathers fell
from a place seemingly higher
than any boy could ever climb
beyond the top of Savage Mountain
and obscured by clouds.
What might you think then?
A flock of birds smithereened
by hunters? By a jet?
Recently, when I got out of the elevator at my usual hour, it occurred to me that my life, whose days more and more repeat themselves down to the smallest detail, resembles that punishment in which each pupil must according to his offense write down the same meaningless (in repetition, at least) sentence ten times, a hundred times or even oftener; except that in my case the punishment is given me with only this limitation: “as many times as you can stand it.
Diaries, Franz Kafka (via creatingaquietmind)
I thought I had a back-up plan, a pre-set disappointment to get back to when new disappointments are unbearable. I’ve known let down and I thought I was immune to the pain. Old lesions have the capacity to hurt as much as new ones, and combined they cause such severe damage.
I should’ve known that that happy state couldn’t last long.
The Earth at Night by NASA
We’re now able to see “Unprecedented” new views of what our incredible Earth looks like at night. NASA’s scientists have just unveiled these never-before-seen photos that are global composites of the Earth. (They’ve called it the Black Marble.) Last year, a new sensor, called VIIRS (Visible Infrared Imaging Radiometer Suite), was launched aboard the Suomi National Polar-orbiting Partnership Satellite, which, amazingly is sensitive enough to detect the light from a single ship in the sea.
Flowers can grow in the most gloomy places. maybe we were burried so we could witness the birth of a rose.
“Ta photo sur la bibliotheque tombe toute seule, il n’y a pas de vents, pas de courant d’air. C’est une main sans poignee, sans corps, qui l’a jete vers moi, sans rien deranger d’autre, pour me faire entendre aux bruits, c’est la main de l’oublie.”
I dived deep before I learn to swim. I did not drown, I ended up resenting surface waters. The more I try the more I learn it’s not my atmosphere. Maybe I have to try a little more, after all where am I going? Can’t dive back anyway. We have lost cabin pressure. It’s like purgatory, but I’m not sure it’s purging.