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Passion Wears The Mask of Love

Passion worthy of literature. ~Isabel Allende

Passion…intense desire born of love or lust…mostly lust, in the beginning, giving way to love as the relationship matures though, hopefully, there is always a current of carnality woven through the love. The face of passion evolves over time. Initially, it is all physical, bodies writhing, bodies intertwined, fucking, fucking, and more fucking.
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The Memory Troll

His brain was vomiting memories. ~Hanya Yanagihara

Memories flood my mind at random intervals during the day, during my waking hours, during my sleeping hours, mostly inhabiting the transition between sleep and awake when consciousness is in flux, susceptible, able to bridge both realms and the trolls beneath grab our feet and pull us down into the subconscious and force us to face our reminiscences.
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The Unbound Bound

I wrote this book for the ghosts, who, because they’re outside of time, are the only ones with time. ~Roberto Bolaño

Existence outside of time, freed from the tyranny of clock hands, aging paused while everyone else slow marches toward final sleep, eternal slumber, eternity both trapped in a moment and outside the moment. Sounds horrible to me – tortuous – loved ones come and go leaving the unbound bound by the demise of everyone near and dear.
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Everyone We Meet is an Illusion

I met interesting people, some of them the product of my own hallucinations. ~Roberto Bolaño

Everyone we meet is an illusion, a combination of our beliefs, our assumptions, our experiences triggered by visual cues, the way the person looks, the language spoken, the motions of their bodies. We don’t see them. We see our expectations, our prejudices, our inner world projected onto their chassis. We see only the shell and judge based on superficialities.
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It’s Always Raining On David Street

One day the person you love will say she doesn’t love you and you won’t understand. ~Roberto Bolaño

I exist in a world, a clouded world in which the fear of not being loved by another is an incessant rain or the occasional drizzly, cloudy with the inevitable monsoon on the horizon. My experience is to live life with the promise of love teetering on the brink of disappearance.
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Soul Nurturers

He gave up at cutting hair, and instead trimmed away at his soul, sip by snip. ~Eka Kurniawan

To give up one’s passion, to forego love for expediency, to live for yesterday at the expense of the future are all soul diminishing activities, spirit-crushing choices. I am lucky to have been blessed with parents who guided me in my youth according to the design of my soul, not to the design of their souls or my sibling’s souls, or to the imagined ideal soul of the day.
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Disconnected Words and Incoherent Thoughts

He was disturbed by elusive yet confusing ideas, like the sparkle of candlelight, which could not be caught before it dissolved into darkness. ~Qiu XIalong

Often, my ideas burn bright illuminating a concept with the intensity of a noonday sun at the equator then flicker away leaving me gasping at the emptiness, saddened to be existing in the void. In the rare instance I am poised with a pen, I capture the taste for later mastication, for a time I can explore and savor every flavor.
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