Song, by Judith Wright

Song

Judith Wright

O where does the dancer dance –

the invisible centre spin –

whose bright periphery holds

the world we wander in?

For it is he we seek –

the source and death of desire;

we blind as blundering moths

around that core of fire.

Caught between birth and death

we stand alone in the dark,

to watch the blazing wheel

on which the earth is a spark,

crying, Where does the dancer dance –

the terrible centre spin,

whose flower will open at last

to let the wanderer in?

How to be Alone

This four-minute video video by filmmaker Andrea Dorfman, set to words by poet and songwriter Tanya Davis, is just gorgeous.

'Something to make you feel loved'

The folks at The Rumpus recently tracked down the text of the priest's monologue from Charlie Kaufman's Synecdoche,  New York, one of my favourite films of recent times. It's incredible stuff: 

Everything is more complicated than you think. You only see a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make. You can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won’t know for twenty years! And you may never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce ...

And they say there’s no fate, but there is, it’s what you create. And even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are only here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead, or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain wasting years for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right, but it never comes. Or it seems to, but it doesn’t really.

So you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope that something good will come along, something to make you feel connected, something to make you feel cherished, something to make you feel loved. And the truth is, I feel so angry! And the truth is, I feel so fucking sad! And the truth is, I’ve felt so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long, I’ve been pretending I’m okay, just to get along!

I don’t know why. Maybe because ... no one wants to hear about my misery ... because they have their own.

Fuck everybody. Amen.