So, Mom says that I can’t take all of my books to California and that I’ll have to leave some here which on the practical side is obvious and makes sense but on the emotional feels very hostile and aggressive and I can’t believe she’s doing this to me.
Also, this is my way of informing you all that I’m moving. In a month. To Berkeley. With only like a 1/4 of my books apparently…
Life is tragic simply because the earth turns and the sun inexorably rises and sets, and one day, for each of us, the sun will go down for the last, last time. Perhaps the whole root of our trouble, the human trouble, is that we will sacrifice all the beauty of our lives, will imprison ourselves in totems, taboos, crosses, blood sacrifices, steeples, mosques, races, armies, flags, nations, in order to deny the fact of death, which is the only fact we have. It seems to me that one ought to rejoice in the fact of death—ought to decide, indeed, to earn one’s death by confronting with passion the conundrum of life. One is responsible to life: It is the small beacon in that terrifying darkness from which we come and to which we shall return. One must negotiate this passage as nobly as possible, for the sake of those who are coming after us.James Baldwin, The Fire Next Time (via et—cetera)
i fell in love with the girl at the rock show
she said “what”
and i said “whAT”
and she said “i can’t hEAR YOU THE MUSIC’S TOO LOUD”
and i said “WHAT”