Bernatk - Heatherfield Citizen

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Spring-sickness and Nostalgia

It’s May 2015. When have the days passed me by? Last time I looked out the window it was two years ago and it was a today. Wasn’t 2013 the future just enough?

I have a friend, who likes to refer to the 1920′s, as a good age and I guess I feel it, too, but it’s always just an intellectual longing to something currently romanticized. At the same time there exists a predominant nostalgia in me, which is personal. I have lost a very good time, when I was healthier than now, fresher, more beautiful.

My spring is always about losing time. I have a favorite interval in my past, which I’d love to bring back--not because I wasted it away but because I couldn’t hold on to it. Spring is also like that: it’s romantic, it’s crisp and it gives me a warm feeling about life but at the same time, I can’t hold on to it.

I’m not talking about fear of change. The idea is changing for worse. Not the possibility but the actual thing. Summer’s a nice season but it is not as appealing to me as spring. It has to do with my taste, so it doesn’t necessarily apply to you but what does is that everything around you is constantly disappearing. And it’s an irrecoverable state.

Corey's best so far...

A lot of people (myself included) get really excited about what’s possible as digital video moves forward. The biggest buzz in the past decade has been the extremely high resolution offered by some cameras. This resolution is measured in K, which stands for “thousand” (kilo).

Common Video Resolutions (width x height):

How to stay friends

Befriend with the humorous guy in your class when you're 13. Let this friendship be loose and neglect each other. Then, when you hit the age of 14 or 15, start making inside jokes, watch movies together. When the others think you're weirdos, start dreaming big, believe, that the two of you can achieve antyhing. Then you'll be ridiculed by the people surrounding you, but you won't mind because they all seem to be irrelevant a-holes, since you two really WILL do something big. Someday... Then have a girlfriend, the normal teenage-love, which is idiotic and harmful in more than several ways. When your friend is against it, don't rely on his advice and make a fool of yourself. When it ends, just admit you were wrong and return to being friends. Graduate from school, go to uni. Grow up, start searching for jobs. Get acquinted with new people, who are fresh and exciting to you. Start feeling odd, then normal, then odd again and finally realise you're just a person, ergo completely like all other humans. And at the end of the day, when one dream collapses after the other and you're, again, running after your dreams from years ago, you know who's the one to call to help you out in writing a damn query letter for the thousandth time. Yes, it's them, the good old friends. They laugh at you and they always say you're just the same and repeat their old phrases over and over again but it doesn't bother you. Because they're your friends.

We all are lucky to have these people. Friendships might not be the brightly blazing fires of life but they will certainly be the most important relationships of it. Because someday you may find the girl, who used to be your closest friend, standing in front of you, lowly whispering 'I do' in a wedding dress, while your old friend keeps mouthing a joke about your favourite movie in the background...

When am I ready?

We work very hard for things we want and for others that we don't. But it's about all right. However, mostly our efforts turn out to be fruitless. Why is this? Why isn't my book published yet? Why am I not married?

Most often we question the methods and the degree of our commitment but other times simply accept failure. None of this and at the same time all of this is right. How can that be?

Firstly, we can never work too hard. There's always a bit more we could do. Yes, even when we feel we've done our best. It is constantly possible to push a little harder, to get somewhat better. And there are times, when our work needs polishing. It's extremely hard to admit, when what we think we've worked for with all our might, cries out for being corrected. It's truly damn difficult to say, that it isn't that good after all.

Secondly, we easily get obsessed with a wide range of variety of things, from what we ought to keep ourselves far. And then it's inevitable, that we lay down our weapons and armours, and whisper lowly: I give up. Then we become free to do what can work for us.

But no matter what we do and how we do it. Sometimes we are destined to achieve success at certain fields, still, we struggle and yet get nowhere. That's because we might not be quite ready. The Oracle tells Neo in the Matrix: Sorry, kid. You got the gift, but it looks like you're waiting for something. And sometimes, very rarely, it looks like we're all waiting for something, just don't know what. We think we'll know when we see it. But it's not something we can see or something that's basically external. No. Just like in Neo's case, we've got to start believing. Faith is the last barrier, that separates us from entering the promise land.

The right answer is always figured out early on, when it isn't, it means, that you are not ready to know it.

When I was sixteen I read The Great Gatsby, and oh - Oh! I said, how it flows, how does this gorgeous iambic pentameter work its way through the valves of my arteries? ‘Within and without’ runs in my blood. Everything sounds like money to me. I wandered lonely as a cloud, only, no, old sport, I don’t wander, I plan. I lift weights like Benjamin Franklin. I gaze out, out, out, I am the poet. I am the huntsman. I lie in wait. I have for years. Sometimes I forget about The Bell Jar, but I remember The Iron Giant. Let me tell you, I’ve watched that movie every year of my life since I was seven years old, and I fell in love with the robot from a children’s story book to the big screen. I have since studied Metamorphoses and watched the hawk fly through the rain, but choking to death on my own breath? A touchy subject. What does F. Scott Fitzgerald have to say for himself when his wife’s journals lay strewn across his back catalogue? Where was Ted Hughes when Sylvia Plath collapsed in the kitchen? Boasting about his own work, or belittling hers? In 2008 The Times ranked Hughes fourth on their list of ‘The 50 greatest British writers since 1945’. Where is Sylvia Plath? Where is Zelda Fitzgerald? Where are the women? Where are the gentle hands, the voices that clink like coins, where are the dangerous curves, where is the soaring fire of our generation? Show me your nails, filed to claws. Give me your ragged hearts, give me your tired, your poor, Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free, give me your words. I want to hear your voices, louder and more insistent than ever before. I want The Times to write a new list. I need to hear the murmurs of agreement of every lecturer in the Arts and Humanities department of each university as they turn it over in their hands. To see a split between every gender so even that no one remembers where the line is, where the line ever was. This wave’s classic writers are gone, so bare your teeth and show me your fighting stance.

we are still behind the yellow wallpaper | ishani jasmin (via ishanijasmin)

So beautiful, so complicated, so problematic...

You: I could say it's complicated but then...