Necessary Fictions

I promised myself I wouldn’t post quotes but this one has bitter-sweet implications for the fragility of memory and our leaky blind spots for which someone, somewhere has written much more eloquently (and by this, not just perfect syntactical sentence structures)

“Everything is ‘fiction’. When you tell yourself the story of your life, the story of your day, you edit and rewrite and weave a narrative out of a collection of random experiences and events. Your conversations are fiction. Your friends and loved ones—they are characters you have created. And your arguments with them are like meetings with an editor—please, they beseech you, you beseech them, rewrite me. You have a perception of the way things are, and you impose it on your memory, and in this way you think, in the same way that I think, that you are living something that is describable. When of course, what we actually live, what we actually experience—with our senses and our nerves—is a vast, absurd, beautiful, ridiculous chaos. (…)

Fiction gives us everything. It gives us our memories, our understanding, our insight, our lives. We use it to invent ourselves and others. We use it to feel change and sadness and hope and love and to tell each other about ourselves.”
—Keith Ridgway


“What is a poet? An unha…


“What is a poet? An unhappy person who hides deep anguish in their heart, but whose lips are so formed that when the sigh and cry pass through them, it sounds like lovely music…. And people flock around the poet and say: ‘Sing again soon’ – that is, ‘May new sufferings torment your soul but your lips be fashioned as before, for the cry would only frighten us, but the music, that is blissful.”
~Søren Kierkegaard, Either – Or ~

‘The acquisition of each…


‘The acquisition of each new thing just engenders a new form of weariness.’ John Ruskin

…Or as I badly paraphrase Fight Club’s Tyler Durden: “You don’t own these things. They own you”

A cogent quote of something approaching truth. Everything belongs to that which it came from. I don’t need to write any more for fear of being didactic…