From the pages of another lover

My answer itself will be a sign, which the other will inevitably interpret, thereby releasing, between us, a tumultuous maneuvering of images. Everything signifies: by this proposition, I entrap myself, I bind myself in calculations, I keep myself from enjoyment.

Sometimes, by dint of deliberating about "nothing" (as the world sees it), I exhaust myself; then I try, in reaction, to return -- like a drowning man who stamps on the floor of the sea -- to a spontaneous decision (spontaneity: the great dream: paradise, power, delight). 

But such recourse is futile: amorous time does not permit the subject to align impulse and action, to make them coincide: I am not the man of mere "acting out" -- my madness is tempered, it is not seen; it is right away that I fear consequences, any consequence: it is my fear -- my deliberation -- which is "spontaneous."

In the lover's realm, there is no acting out: no propulsion, perhaps even no pleasure -- nothing but signs, a frenzied activity of language: to institute, on each furtive occasion, the system (the paradigm) of demand and response."

Excepts from:  A Lover's Discourse by Roland Barthes

At the tip

Ein Herausfallen werden wir nicht auf Zehenspitzen über.

#J

When people speak of beautiful sunsets I think of you. When I read poems, and stories  or when I return to the pages, and seek new ones in hopes of  another beautiful encounter, it is also partly the thought of you I intend  to revisit again and again.

You, whom I do not tell that all night long

I lie weeping,

You make me feel alone. 

(Rilke) 

Whe smiles make a spectacle of stupidity

It is not that I cannot accept arrogance, I know in reality, this and vanity are difficult to overcome, but I hate it when people forego humility altogether.

It is easier to scoff at what you don't understand than admit the fact that you do not get it.
Sometimes the condescending smiles, in reality, we know are masks to our own embarrassments.

There is virtue in humility.