SolidAir
July 2012
“Le persone tristi sono le sole autentiche. Possono dirti la verità sulle cose; sanno da sempre che non ci si può fidare di nessuno e che nessun cambiamento nella tua vita, per quanto grande, alla fine ti impedirà di essere quella che eri all’inizio: persa e sola, seduta su una tela cerata a guardare gli altri che nuotano a farfalla.”
—[Anne Tyler, L’amore paziente]
Howl's Moving Castle (2004)
- Howl: I feel terrible, like there's a weight on my chest.
- Young Sophie: A heart's a heavy burden.
Shakespeare and the Number 14 →
brainpickings.org
We’ve already seen how Shakespeare changed everything and how Fibonacci, “the man of numbers,” changed the world. But in this short video, Professor Roger Bowley uses Shakespeare’s iambic pentameter and penchant for the number 14 to show that the bard was quite the man of numbers himself, revealing a relationship between poetry and mathematics much more tightly knit than the standard cultural compartmentalization would have you believe.
Last night I dreamt
That somebody loved me
No hope - no harm
Just another false alarm
Last night I felt
Real arms around me
No hope - no harm
Just another false alarm
So tell me how long
Before the last one?
And tell me how long
Before the right one?
This story is old - I know
But it goes on
This story is old - I know
But it goes on
It goes on…
“Once the unfaithful husband got started on his confessions, there was no stopping him, no stopping him at all, so he simply told her that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with the other woman. He had even packed his suitcase, he said. His wife cried and cried and all she could say, the only question she could think of, was: When on earth did you pack your suitcase?
Now was this a question she should have asked? Dear God in heaven, why people want to hurt themselves so much? says Val Bryn, and continues her story:
My suitcase, said the unfaithful husband, and now I imagine that he might have given a little smile. I packed my suitcase ten years ago, honey, exactly four months after we got married. Or rather: I started packing it then. Little by little, you understand. Every time you spread out on the couch with that big ugly sweater that you liked so much and hardly bothered to open your mouth to order me around, practically burping out your commands, could you please get me a glass of milk, could you please get me an apple, could you please get me a bowl of chips. Or all those times you would put your arms around my neck when I was sitting in my own quiet world, reading a book, listening to music or just looking out the window, put your arms around my neck and whisper what are you thinking, what are you thinking? And all those times I forced myself to come up with an answer that would satisfy you, I’m thinking about our summer vacation and what a good time we had at the movies last week or how pretty you look in that dress or maybe we should paint the kitchen yellow soon because you were always redecorating, were never pleased; and every time you ate prune; who the hell eat prunes, gobbles down prune after prune the way you do, smacking your lips! So you see, any little thing like that, some detail or other, I’d add another piece of clothing to my suitcase. A pair of boxer shorts, a shirt, a sock, another sock, a silk tie, an undershirt… The worse your… what shall I say? The worse your offence was… the bigger or finer the piece of clothing I packed. If you coughed all night long, the way you sometimes do, I packed a pullover sweater. For every “what are you thinking about” a packed a tie. For every prune a sock. If you forced me to fuck you, as you, in your own way of course, force me to fuck you, I packed linen shirts. And now and then, when I sensed the smell of you on my fingers, I might decide to pack a whole suit.” —[Before You Sleep by Linn Ullmann]
Now was this a question she should have asked? Dear God in heaven, why people want to hurt themselves so much? says Val Bryn, and continues her story:
My suitcase, said the unfaithful husband, and now I imagine that he might have given a little smile. I packed my suitcase ten years ago, honey, exactly four months after we got married. Or rather: I started packing it then. Little by little, you understand. Every time you spread out on the couch with that big ugly sweater that you liked so much and hardly bothered to open your mouth to order me around, practically burping out your commands, could you please get me a glass of milk, could you please get me an apple, could you please get me a bowl of chips. Or all those times you would put your arms around my neck when I was sitting in my own quiet world, reading a book, listening to music or just looking out the window, put your arms around my neck and whisper what are you thinking, what are you thinking? And all those times I forced myself to come up with an answer that would satisfy you, I’m thinking about our summer vacation and what a good time we had at the movies last week or how pretty you look in that dress or maybe we should paint the kitchen yellow soon because you were always redecorating, were never pleased; and every time you ate prune; who the hell eat prunes, gobbles down prune after prune the way you do, smacking your lips! So you see, any little thing like that, some detail or other, I’d add another piece of clothing to my suitcase. A pair of boxer shorts, a shirt, a sock, another sock, a silk tie, an undershirt… The worse your… what shall I say? The worse your offence was… the bigger or finer the piece of clothing I packed. If you coughed all night long, the way you sometimes do, I packed a pullover sweater. For every “what are you thinking about” a packed a tie. For every prune a sock. If you forced me to fuck you, as you, in your own way of course, force me to fuck you, I packed linen shirts. And now and then, when I sensed the smell of you on my fingers, I might decide to pack a whole suit.” —[Before You Sleep by Linn Ullmann]
