HERE I AM

Ask me anything   My name is Matt and I'm a sophomore at Humboldt State University in Northern California. I'm double majoring in French & Francophone Studies and International Studies with a concentration in Post-Colonial Africa. My dream is to live the second half of my life as a writer, describing the human condition in the context of globalization. I want to know how far the human heart and spirit can stretch, and what it can cry out along the way. And, more than anything, I want to put myself to use, wholly and fully, to a craft, a conglomeration of ideas, and the open road. Like Thoreau I want to push life into a corner making it beg of worthiness, then turn my back in order to write what I saw, heard, and felt. These days, though, I spend most of time lost in books, articles, and lectures. My ears have been opened by my heart to the problems of the world, and my mind is stretching in trying to make sense of it all. Maybe the non-sense of it all is the well that I will draw from. But non-sense is but a blank note in a broken bottle, and I don’t want anyone to bleed.

"

Je peux écrire les vers les plus tristes cette nuit.
Écrire, par exemple: “La nuit est étoilée
et les astres d’azur tremblent dans le lointain.”
Le vent de la nuit tourne dans le ciel et chante.
Je puis écrire les vers les plus tristes cette nuit.
Je l’aimais, et parfois elle aussi elle m’aima.
Les nuits comme cette nuit, je l’avais entre mes bras.
Je l’embrassai tant de fois sous le ciel, ciel infini.

Elle m’aima, et parfois moi aussi je l’ai aimée.
Comment n’aimerait-on pas ses grands yeux fixes.
Je peux écrire les vers les plus tristes cette nuit.
Penser que je ne l’ai pas. Regretter l’avoir perdue.
Entendre la nuit immense, et plus immense sans elle.

Et le vers tombe dans l’âme comme la rosée dans l’herbe.
Qu’importe que mon amour n’ait pas pu la retenir.
La nuit est pleine d’étoiles, elle n’est pas avec moi.
Voilà tout. Au loin on chante. C’est au loin.

Et mon âme est mécontente parce que je l’ai perdue.
Comme pour la rapprocher, c’est mon regard qui la cherche.
Et mon coeur aussi la cherche, elle n’est pas avec moi.
Et c’est bien la même nuit qui blanchit les mêmes arbres.
Mais nous autres, ceux d’alors, nous ne sommes plus les mêmes.
je ne l’aime plus, c’est vrai. Pourtant, combien je l’aimais.

Ma voix appelait le vent pour aller à son oreille.
A un autre. A un autre elle sera. Ainsi qu’avant mes baisers.
Avec sa voix, son corps clair. Avec ses yeux infinis.
je ne l’aime plus, c’est vrai, pourtant, peut-être je l’aime.
Il est si bref l’amour et l’oubli est si long.

C’était en des nuits pareilles, je l’avais entre mes bras
et mon âme est mécontente parce que je l’ai perdue.
Même si cette douleur est la dernière par elle
et même si ce poème est les derniers vers pour elle.

"

Pablo Neruda

(traduit par André Bonhomme et Jean Marcenac)

(Source: calusita)

— 1 day ago with 6 notes
"But I love your feet only because they walked upon the earth and upon the wind and upon the waters, until they found me"
Pablo Neruda (via ofincense)

(via ofincense)

— 1 day ago with 10 notes
"The little concern voiced from our “leaders” was faint, arrived late, was delivered without much feeling, and was soon overshadowed by an indifference to the value of Palestinian life that has corrupted our children’s sense of right and wrong for generations. Later our government would offer money, a promise to help “rebuild.” As if money and rebuilding were the issues. If someone killed my children and offered me money for the privilege of having done so, I would view them as monsters, not humanitarians."
Overcoming Speechlessness:A poet encounters the horror in Rwanda, Eastern Congo, and Palestine/Israel. By, Alice Walker.
— 1 week ago
#alice walker  #lit  #literature  #overcoming speechlessness 
"If you don’t feel that you are possibly on the edge of humiliating yourself, of losing control of the whole thing, then probably what you are doing isn’t very vital."
John Irving (via wrists)
— 1 week ago with 2682 notes
"You know who my gods are, who I believe in fervently? Herman Melville, Emily Dickinson — she’s probably the top — Mozart, Shakespeare, Keats. These are wonderful gods who have gotten me through the narrow straits of life."
Maurice Sendak on religion and faith. [complete interviews here] (via nprfreshair)

(via nprfreshair)

— 1 week ago with 907 notes
"But I can hardly sit still. I keep fidgeting, crossing one leg and then the other. I feel like I could throw off sparks, or break a window—maybe rearrange all the furniture."
Raymond Carver, Where I’m Calling From: New and Selected Stories (via shelbyq)
— 1 week ago with 2 notes
millionsmillions:

“It ought to make us feel ashamed when we talk like we know what we’re talking about when we talk about love.”
-Raymond Carver

millionsmillions:

“It ought to make us feel ashamed when we talk like we know what we’re talking about when we talk about love.”

-Raymond Carver

— 1 week ago with 41 notes

Tamara has never listened to hip hop.
Never danced to the rhythm of raindrops or fallen asleep to a chorus of chirping crickets. She has been Deaf
for as long as I’ve been alive.
And ever since the day I first turned five my father has said:
“Joshua.
Nothing is wrong with Tamara.
**God just makes
some people
different.**”

And at that moment
those nine letters felt like hammers
swung gracefully by unholy hands to shatter my stained glass innocence
into shards that can never be pieced back together
or do anything more than sever the ties between my sister and I. I waited,
was patient numberless years anticipating the second her ears would open like lotuses and allow my sunlight senses to seep into her insides
make her remember
all of those conversations we must have had in heaven back when God handpicked us to be sibling souls centuries ago.
I still remember
her 20th birthday.
Readily recall my awe-struck 11 year old eyes as I watched Deaf men and women of all ages dance in unison to the vibration of speakers booming so loud
that I imagined angels chastising us for disturbing their worship with such beautiful blasphemy.
Until you have seen **a Deaf girl dance, you know
nothing
of passion.**
There was a barricade between us that I never took the time to destroy never even for a moment thought to look up the sign for **sister**, for **family**, for **goodbye. I will see you again someday.**
remember the face
of your little brother.

It is only now I see
that I was never willing to put in the extra effort to love her properly.
So as the only person in my family who is not fluent in sign language
I’ve decided to take this time to apologize.

Tamara
**I am sorry
for my silence.**

For true love knows no frequency, and so
I will use these hands to speak volumes that can never be contained within the boundaries of sound waves
I will shout at the top of my fingertips until digits dance and relay these mental messages directly to your soul.

I know
that there is no poem
that can make up for all the time we have lost so
please,
if you can,
**just listen.**

(Source: livelife-loveart)

— 1 week ago with 5 notes
"I know that this might sound calloused, but there is something humbling watching how you walked away from all that wreckage in scars that look more like keyholes to a door that nobody has ever opened."
Joshua Bennett (via welcometosaturnsring)
— 1 week ago with 73 notes
"Cultivate the habit of early rising. It is unwise to keep the head long on a level with the feet."
Henry David Thoreau

(Source: marcmanley)

— 1 week ago with 16 notes
"Don’t study OPEC. Study what oil is doing to Venezuela. Ten years from now, twenty years from now, you will see, oil will bring us ruin…It’s the devil’s excrement."

Pérez Alfonzo

 

(via venttorelievee)

— 1 week ago with 1 note
"I wanna know what you see when you look in the mirror on a day you’re feeling good. I wanna know what you see in the mirror on a day you’re feeling bad. I wanna know the first person who ever taught you your beauty could ever be reflected on a lousy piece of glass"
Andrea Gibson (via schwer)
— 1 week ago with 3138 notes
vintageanchor:

“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” —Anton Chekhov

vintageanchor:

“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.”
—Anton Chekhov

— 1 week ago with 217 notes

onlyaworkingtitle:

Ira Glass on Storytelling, by David Shiyang Liu

All credit due to the amazing Ira Glass. Source audio is from this very seminal video by current.tv: youtube.com/watch?v=BI23U7U2aUY

— 1 week ago with 102 notes

pantheonbooks:

“You do not need to leave your room. Remain sitting at your table and listen. Do not even listen, simply wait, be quiet still and solitary. The world will freely offer itself to you to be unmasked, it has no choice, it will roll in ecstasy at your feet.”

- Franz Kafka

— 2 weeks ago with 249 notes