Post
by SadLuckDame » April 12th, 2010, 11:42 am
I still struggle to write Fyodor Dostoevsky's name and I read every single thing I can get my hands on by him, and won't put the books down till forced to.
Kierkegaard looks interesting, I'm going to read him a little today to see how well he sticks, but I'm sure I, too, will struggle on his name.
A side-note on first love.
I found an example...when I first married the 'x' ten years ago, I remember how I went into it, though it quickly dissipated. I'd ask him, "Tell me a story, any sort of story that'll take me away to somewhere else, then I can close my eyes and possibly go there."
Now he was highly intellectual, well read and that sort of thing, but I quickly found out his limitations, especially in the area of imagining or creating. He could not tell a story nor amuse me to even believe he could, and I'm very well gullible too.
What a first disappointment in the failure to simulate what I thought love would supply and where had I developed such ideas on love to begin with? So reading this on first love, it sort of makes much more sense to me now, like a little piece.
But, because of the catfish influence and his abilities with the imagining or breaking boundaries, I'm able to have Fyodor or Henry Miller or Henry James, etc. put me to sleep at night. And even the catfish, the magician and you. Otherwise, I find it especially difficult to close my eyes, if I've found myself in a dull mood(those particularly emotionless and boredom ridden days), I couldn't do it until exhaustion finally closed my eyes, then there was no release for such a playful way for my soul to heal up and happily so during my dreams.
Anyway, I'm just rambling.
If it's the only way to have the love I seek, then I go to it and meet it in the Ennui or the pond, if I must, at least I'm honestly happy and not at all worried if I don't suit the normalcy or what society appreciates. It's mine, it's mine and that is more important to me.
`Do you know, I was so angry, Kitty,' Alice went on...`when I saw all the mischief you had been doing, I was very nearly opening the window, and putting you out into the snow! And you'd have deserved it, you
little mischievous darling!
~Lewis Carroll