George Forss’ pre-9/11 photographs of New York City are a celebration of, and an elegy for, a lost world:
"I am the love killer,
I am murdering the music we thought so special,
that blazed between us, over and over.
I am murdering me, where I kneeled at your kiss.
I am pushing knives through the hands
that created two into one.
Our hands do not bleed at this,
they lie still in their dishonor.
I am taking the boats of our beds
and swamping them, letting them cough on the sea
and choke on it and go down into nothing."
— Anne Sexton, from Killing The Love
"Yes, I was infatuated with you: I am still. No one has ever heightened such a keen capacity of physical sensation in me. I cut you out because I couldn’t stand being a passing fancy. Before I give my body, I must give my thoughts, my mind, my dreams. And you weren’t having any of those."
— Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
"History, Stephen said, is a nightmare from which I am trying to awake."
— James Joyce, Ulysses
"I longed for activity, instead of an even flow of existence. I wanted excitement and danger and the chance to renounce self for the sake of my love. I was conscious of a superabundance of energy which found no outlet in our quiet life. I had bouts of depression, which I tried to hide, as something to be ashamed of…My mind, even my senses were occupied, but there was another feeling – the feeling of youth and a craving for activity – which found no scope in our quiet life…So time went by, the snow piled higher and higher round the house, and there we remained together, always and for ever alone and just the same in each other’s eyes; while somewhere far away amidst glitter and noise multitudes of people thrilled, suffered and rejoiced, without one thought of us and our existence which was ebbing away. Worst of all, I felt that every day that passed riveted another link to the chain of habit which was binding our life into a fixed shape, that our emotions, ceasing to be spontaneous, were being subordinated to the even, passionless flow of time… ‘It’s all very well … ‘ I thought, ‘it’s all very well to do good and lead upright lives, as he says, but we’ll have plenty of time for that later, and there are other things for which the time is now or never.’ I wanted, not what I had got, but a life of challenge; I wanted feeling to guide us in life, and not life to guide us in feeling."
Family Happiness (1859)
"Human relationships didn’t work anyhow. Only the first two weeks had any zing, then the participants lost their interest. Masks dropped away and real people began to appear: cranks, imbeciles, the demented, the vengeful, sadists, killers. Modern society had created its own kind and they feasted on each other. It was a duel to the death—in a cesspool."
— Charles Bukowski, Women, ‘78
Pink Floyd - Hey You
..But it was only fantasy.
The wall was too high.
Born at September 6, 1943, Great Bookham, United Kingdom
Happy 71st birthday Roger!
Uplašeno sam pijan.
Ponekad neko naiđe
da me nespretno pazi,
neko, kome ja, zaista, naivno,
zaista bez zlih namera,
već posle druge čaše otkrijem putokaze
koji vode od tebe
do moga usijanog temena.
Nikome nemoj reći,
ali dok lezim ovde kao ispražnjen sarkofag
i nešto mudrujem o sreći,
trudim se da bar malo zabrinute dobrote
tom drugom nekom dam.
I dok umire drveće
i susnežice po lisću gazi,
trudim se da mu bude dobro,
makar mrvicu dobro,
u ime izvesnog aorista moje ljubavi
i davnoproslog vremena.
Miroslav Mika Antic, Epilog