And isn’t it almost time we wrote something again… I will even do something about pain and loss and darkness and mirror shards and all that stuff, because I know how happy that makes you… HA!!!
This made me feel a bit shuddery, actually. That’s not to say it’s not great poetry – it had great impact…but I recoiled from it a bit. I’ll have to think about why 🙂 Good job, both x
Reblogged this on 21 Shades of Blue and commented:
“In this dream, though, he burned with desire for a woman. It wasn’t clear who she was. She was just there. And she had a special ability to separate her body and her heart. I will give you one of them, she told Tsukuru. My body or my heart. But you can’t have both. You need to choose one or the other, right now. I’ll give the other part to someone else, she said. But Tsukuru wanted all of her. He wasn’t about to hand over one half to another man. He couldn’t stand that. If that’s how it is, he wanted to tell her, I don’t need either one. But he couldn’t say it. He was stymied, unable to go forward, unable to go back.
A horrendous pain lashed out at him, as if his entire body were being wrung out by enormous hands. His muscles snapped, his bones shrieked in agony, and he felt a horrendous thirst, as if every cell in his body were drying up, sapped of moisture. His body shook with rage at the thought of giving half of her to someone else.
That rage became a thick, sloppy ooze that squeezed out from his marrow; his lungs were a pair of crazed bellows, while his heart raced like an engine with the accelerator slammed to the floor. Darkish, agitated blood pulsed to all his extremities.
He woke up, his body quaking. It took a while before he understood that it had been a dream. He tore off his sweat-soaked pajamas and dried himself with a towel, but no matter how hard he wiped the sweat away, he couldn’t rid himself of that slimy feeling. And he came to a realization. Or maybe felt it intuitively. So this was jealousy. The body or the heart of the woman he loved, or maybe even both, were being wrested from him by someone else.
Jealousy—at least as far as he understood it from his dream—was the most hopeless prison in the world. Jealousy was not a place he was forced into by someone else, but a jail in which the inmate entered voluntarily, locked the door, and threw away the key. And not another soul in the world knew he was locked inside. Of course if he wanted to escape, he could do so. The prison was, after all, his own heart. But he couldn’t make that decision. His heart was as hard as a stone wall. This was the very essence of jealousy.”
— Haruki Murakami, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage
HASTYWORDS 
Reblogged this on georgeforfun.
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Serins is everywhere all of a sudden… good job, you two.
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🙂 I enjoy writing with wonderful talented bloggers, like Hasty.
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She rocks.
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She does.
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yup
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Thank you for writing with me 🙂
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And isn’t it almost time we wrote something again… I will even do something about pain and loss and darkness and mirror shards and all that stuff, because I know how happy that makes you… HA!!!
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You know where to find me… I am always up for it.
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yay
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what I can say or add – impressive and beautiful – I adore this post!!
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Thank you. 🙂
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This made me feel a bit shuddery, actually. That’s not to say it’s not great poetry – it had great impact…but I recoiled from it a bit. I’ll have to think about why 🙂 Good job, both x
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mmm….. Thanks. Sorry that it mady you feel Shuddery.
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No, don’t apologise – evoking something in a reader is always a success 🙂
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Fantastic job you two! Dark, but beautiful.
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Thanks. 🙂
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Reblogged this on 21 Shades of Blue and commented:
“In this dream, though, he burned with desire for a woman. It wasn’t clear who she was. She was just there. And she had a special ability to separate her body and her heart. I will give you one of them, she told Tsukuru. My body or my heart. But you can’t have both. You need to choose one or the other, right now. I’ll give the other part to someone else, she said. But Tsukuru wanted all of her. He wasn’t about to hand over one half to another man. He couldn’t stand that. If that’s how it is, he wanted to tell her, I don’t need either one. But he couldn’t say it. He was stymied, unable to go forward, unable to go back.
A horrendous pain lashed out at him, as if his entire body were being wrung out by enormous hands. His muscles snapped, his bones shrieked in agony, and he felt a horrendous thirst, as if every cell in his body were drying up, sapped of moisture. His body shook with rage at the thought of giving half of her to someone else.
That rage became a thick, sloppy ooze that squeezed out from his marrow; his lungs were a pair of crazed bellows, while his heart raced like an engine with the accelerator slammed to the floor. Darkish, agitated blood pulsed to all his extremities.
He woke up, his body quaking. It took a while before he understood that it had been a dream. He tore off his sweat-soaked pajamas and dried himself with a towel, but no matter how hard he wiped the sweat away, he couldn’t rid himself of that slimy feeling. And he came to a realization. Or maybe felt it intuitively. So this was jealousy. The body or the heart of the woman he loved, or maybe even both, were being wrested from him by someone else.
Jealousy—at least as far as he understood it from his dream—was the most hopeless prison in the world. Jealousy was not a place he was forced into by someone else, but a jail in which the inmate entered voluntarily, locked the door, and threw away the key. And not another soul in the world knew he was locked inside. Of course if he wanted to escape, he could do so. The prison was, after all, his own heart. But he couldn’t make that decision. His heart was as hard as a stone wall. This was the very essence of jealousy.”
— Haruki Murakami, Colorless Tsukuru Tazaki and His Years of Pilgrimage
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Hey love, I think I read somewhere you are ready to duet. email me 🙂 hastywords@gmail.com
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Awesome, I am, I’ll send an email now!
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