Sep 14, 2014

This sentence has five words. Here are five more words. Five-word sentences are fine. But several together are monotonous. Listen to what is happening. The writing is getting boring. The sound of it drones. It’s like a stuck record. The ear demands some variety.

Now listen. I vary the sentence length, and I create music. Music. The writing sings. It has a pleasant rhythm, a lit, a harmony. I use short sentences. And I use sentences of medium length. And sometimes, when I am certain the reader is rested, I will engage him with a sentence of considerable length, a sentence that burns with energy and builds with all the impetus of a crescendo, the roll of the drums, the crash of the cymbals — sounds that say, listen to this, it is important.

Gary Provost. 100 ways to improve your writing. 1985
Sep 2, 2014
Tragedy is the shattering of forms and of our attachment to the forms; comedy, the wild and careless, inexhaustible joy of life invincible. Thus the two are the terms of a single mythological theme and experience which includes them both and which they bound: the down-going and the up-going (kathodos and anodos), which together constitute the totality of the revelation that is life, and which the individual must know and love if he is to be purged (katharsis = purgatorio) of the contagion of sin (disobedience to the divine will) and death (identification with the mortal form).
Joseph Campbell. The hero with a thousand faces. Prologue.
Aug 18, 2014
Aug 12, 2014

Depuis l’époque de la Révolution française une moitié de l’Europe s’intitule la gauche et l’autre moitié a reçu l’appellation de droite. Il est pratiquement impossible de définir l’une ou l’autre de ces notions par des principes théoriques quelconques sur lesquels elles s’appuieraient. Ça n’a rien de surprenant : les mouvements politiques ne reposent pas sur des attitudes rationnelles mais sur des représentations, des images, des mots, des archétypes dont l’ensemble constitue tel ou tel kitsch politique.

L’idée de la Grande Marche, dont Franz aime à s’enivrer, c’est le kitsch politique qui unit les gens de gauche de tous les temps et de toutes les tendances. La Grande Marche, c’est ce superbe cheminement en avant, le cheminement vers la fraternité, l’égalité, la justice, le bonheur et, plus loin encore, malgré tous les obstacles, car il faut qu’il y ait des obstacles pour que la marche puisse être la Grande Marche.

La dictature du prolétariat ou la démocratie ? Le refus de la société de consommation ou l’augmentation de la production ? La guillotine ou l’abolition de la peine de mort ? Ça n’a aucune importance. Ce qui fait d’un homme de gauche un homme de gauche ce n’est pas telle ou telle théorie, mais son pouvoir de faire que toute théorie devienne partie intégrante du kitsch intitulé la Grande Marche en avant.

Milan Kundera. L’Insoutenable Légèreté De L’être.
Aug 5, 2014
Il est beaucoup plus important de déterrer une corneille enterrée vivante que d’envoyer une pétition à un président.
Milan Kundera. L’Insoutenable Légèreté De L’être. 1983
Aug 3, 2014
  1. Igniculus: Aurora, what is home?
  2. Aurora: Home is where you most grow.
Jul 25, 2014

Celui qui se jette à l'eau sans la volonté de nager se noiera.

Jul 23, 2014

I have been traveling the galaxy looking for a new home. Thousands of us volunteered. We scanned the planets, we scanned the stars and when we were done, we moved on to the next.

There are no days or nights here. There is always darkness. A darkness so deep that even myriad stars can’t rid us of it. Sometimes I have trouble knowing if I’m awake. There have been times when I was sure I had found hope for us. I look at my scanner and see another Earth, glowing amidst the black sea, waiting for us to come, and when I reach for the screen to mark it, I wake up. I wake up to find to myself alone, three hundred years and counting, staring out into the universe. Somewhere out there a home awaits, the home that will save all of us.

Yesterday something happened. A light in the distance moved unnaturally swirling towards me, my first thought was of an asteroid, but it was not. I moved closer to it and it moved closer to me. It was another capsule making its way through the void.

I slowed down to look into it and it slowed down to look into mine. It was not a capsule I had ever seen. It seemed simple, a spherical glass-looking object glowing slightly, like a translucent marble. And as we came to be in front of each other we stopped and we stared. Inside it was the strangest of creatures, a long stem that connected eight legs with an almost pink fleshy skin. There it stood hunched over what seemed to be the controls of its small sphere. It stared at me with two bulbous eyes that popped from its head, and I stared at it amazed, thinking I must be asleep.

I can’t tell you how long we stood there floating, unmoving, staring, analyzing. It could have been minutes, it might have been hours. I wanted to ask it so many things. Where are you from? Where is your world? What are you doing out here in the empty desert, so far from any living thing?

The creature from the glass capsule raised its two front legs and began to make a little dance with them. Adrenaline rushed into my bloodstream and my heart pounded. What was it trying to do? Was I about to die at the hands of a strange alien creature? Was it scared of me? Was it trying to say something?

All I could to think to do was to wave back, and when I did it jumped in its place and made the dance once more. He was saying “Hi” to me, and I had just figured it out. I smiled, and it jumped, and I waved and it danced, and there in the middle of the nothingness we floated like fools, smiling, jumping, waving, dancing. I tried to imitate his dance, and then it waved back at me, lifting its body, showing me a mouth lined with teeth, attempting a smile like mine. And so I jumped up and down, imitating its response.

And then it left. It left me there, alone with my questions and my quest, alone in my search for a new home. Maybe it too was searching for a place to live. Maybe it too had spent hundreds of years alone in the vast expanses of our galaxy. Maybe it too was in need of a polite stranger. A stranger that would keep it sane.

/u/Writes_Sci_Fi on Reddit
Jul 22, 2014

Une manifestation de protestation avait lieu ce jour-là et elle ne put s’empêcher d’y participer. De jeunes Français levaient le poing et hurlaient des mots d’ordre contre l’impérialisme soviétique. Ces mots d’ordre lui plaisaient, mais elle constata avec surprise qu’elle était incapable de crier de concert avec les autres. Elle ne put rester que quelques minutes dans le cortège.

Elle fit part de cette expérience à des amis français. Ils s’étonnaient : « Tu ne veux donc pas lutter contre l’occupation de ton pays ? » Elle voulait leur dire que le communisme, le fascisme, toutes les occupations et toutes les invasions dissimulent un mal fondamental et universel ; pour elle, l’image de ce mal, c’étaient les cortèges de gens qui défilent en levant le bras et en criant les mêmes syllabes à l’unisson. Mais elle savait qu’elle ne pourrait pas le leur expliquer.

Milan Kundera. L’Insoutenable Légèreté De L’être. 1983
Jul 10, 2014
L’esquisse qu’est notre vie n’est l’esquisse de rien, une ébauche sans tableau.
Milan Kundera. L’Insoutenable Légèreté De L’être. 1983
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