I have to start by telling you that my entire existence could be summed up in one phrase.
You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill,
planting the flag, proclaiming."
~ The crown town of your birth awaits your return“The trouble with words is that you never know whose mouth they have been in.”
– Dennis Potter
A memoir that conceals. Rebecca Solnit’s latest book promises intimacy, but it speaks more powerfully on broad, collective problems
‘Darkness Residencies’: Four Writers Spend Hours In Completely Blacked-Out Rooms
Artist Sam Winston, as part of his project A Delicate Sight, invited Bernardine Evaristo (co-winner of last year’s Booker Prize), Raymond Antrobus (winner of last year’s Folio Prize for poetry), Don Paterson, and Max Porter, “to spend hours in blackout before writing something inspired by heightened senses, identity, imagination, sensory reduction and rest.” – The Guardian
Don’t our lives unfold in proportion to our courage,
I wrote to someone a few days ago, my heart in my throat,
wondering why I’m writing a letter at all.
The New Frugality?
For decades American culture has promoted the ethos of disposable things. We are encouraged to be acquisitive – getting things for the sake of getting them. Suddenly under lockdown, is a new zeitgeist taking hold? Reuse. Make last. Seek permanence. – Vox
Anna Jarvis, The Creator of Mother’s Day, Died Hating The Holiday She Created Teen Vogue
Anna Jarvis, The Creator of Mother’s Day, Died Hating The Holiday She Created Teen Vogue
Viewpoint: A true Mother’s Day gift would be policies supporting mothers Lansing State Journal
It evidently isn’t blogging that is dead, but what used to be called the blogosphere died some time ago. How I used to loathe that term, but it now represents a wistful glance in the rear-view mirror. At its peak, it represented an inter-connected series of blogs of shifting, but broadly mutual interests. Each blog nourished each other through commenting on each other posts, a carefully curated blog-roll, shared arguments and occasional memes.
There is little point in nostalgia. Facebook and then Twitter emerged as easier sites to share opinion and recommendations. There is, at least since Teju Cole, little artistic expression on Twitter. Writing on those platforms doesn’t, unlike blogging, feel like a creative project. I kept a Twitter presence to follow the journeys of a few readers who over some years shaped my own reading experience, but it is so easy to get dejected by the rolling news, the banter and the trivial. My @timesflow account became primarily a way of driving readers to individual blog posts.
The nuanced conversation and complex interconnected social relations that characterised the blogosphere seem to have transferred in part to podcasts, at least in terms of the literary conversation I once found between bloggers. To be honest, I didn’t envisage back in 2009 what a marvellous world this blog would open up for me, both in terms of meeting literary-minded people in person, or just exchanging emails and messages. Social media remains a viable way to “meet” like-minded people, so I’m sure I’ll maintain a presence in some shape and form.
This is all a rambling way to explain that I have decided to end Time’s Flow Stemmed. On this site I found a voice, maybe became a better writer, definitely became a better reader. I’ve no regrets or sadness. Through blogging, I’ve met many wonderful people all over the world and hope to continue the conversation in the future. I still have a great yearning for conversation about literature and what makes a human, though I’m not sure yet what form that may take.
Notebook Fragments by Ocean Vuong
1.
Maybe fragments are what make my life. I gather them all together in my arms, carry what I can, from place to place: Here is where things have become disastrous; here is where I learned to live through the pain; here is where I’ve come to stand, knees trembling, after being bent double in grief.
Maybe fragments are what make my life. I gather them all together in my arms, carry what I can, from place to place: Here is where things have become disastrous; here is where I learned to live through the pain; here is where I’ve come to stand, knees trembling, after being bent double in grief.
2.
In a postcard which I wrote to my future self, I said, “The universe, in general, is kind. And isn’t that fantastic? You’ve got to trust the process, love.”
In a postcard which I wrote to my future self, I said, “The universe, in general, is kind. And isn’t that fantastic? You’ve got to trust the process, love.”
3.
I don’t ask for much these days, other than to occupy the spaces surrounding the word here.
I don’t ask for much these days, other than to occupy the spaces surrounding the word here.
4.
Maybe a fragment is what I am, all these years: Here is the self that threatens to crumble; here is the self who died a thousand times; here is the self who lived anyway.
Maybe a fragment is what I am, all these years: Here is the self that threatens to crumble; here is the self who died a thousand times; here is the self who lived anyway.
5.
I am thirty-two today. The unknown before me.
I am thirty-two today. The unknown before me.
6.
The mantra falls from my lips like a promise: Here. Here. Here.
Birdsong has risen like a tide of hope from our silenced cities. Is it here to stay? Guardian
ZDNet – Drowning out the pandemic with streaming tunes – “With many of us stuck in our home offices during the pandemic, the silence gets pretty boring. You may require tunes to work — or maybe you need to drown out the distractions. Either way, while there are numerous music streaming services well worth paying for, there’s also plenty of stuff that you can access for free…”
The mantra falls from my lips like a promise: Here. Here. Here.
Birdsong has risen like a tide of hope from our silenced cities. Is it here to stay? Guardian
Demand It Courageously
Julia Hartwig
Julia Hartwig
Make some room for yourself, human animal.
Even a dog jostles about on his master’s lap to
improve his position. And when he needs space he
runs forward, without paying attention to commands
or calls.
If you didn’t manage to receive freedom as a gift,
demand it as courageously as bread and meat.
Make some room for yourself, human pride and
dignity.
The Czech writer Hrabal said:
I have as much freedom as I take.
Even a dog jostles about on his master’s lap to
improve his position. And when he needs space he
runs forward, without paying attention to commands
or calls.
If you didn’t manage to receive freedom as a gift,
demand it as courageously as bread and meat.
Make some room for yourself, human pride and
dignity.
The Czech writer Hrabal said:
I have as much freedom as I take.
ZDNet – Drowning out the pandemic with streaming tunes – “With many of us stuck in our home offices during the pandemic, the silence gets pretty boring. You may require tunes to work — or maybe you need to drown out the distractions. Either way, while there are numerous music streaming services well worth paying for, there’s also plenty of stuff that you can access for free…”
