THIS IS ME





FABULOUS FRANKE

SKATE

I ♥  Bruno Mars

♥ WILLIAM ♥

#flashbackfriday

FABULOUS FRANKE

RECONNAISSANCE | CARL PHILLIPS

Even if you’re right,

and there’s in fact a difference

between trouble unlooked-for, and

the kind of trouble we pursued,

ruthlessly, until at last

it was ours,

what will the difference

have been, finally? What I’ve

called the world continues

to pass for one, the room spins

same as ever, the bodies

inside it do, flightless, but

no less addicted to mastering—

to the dream of mastering—the very

boughs through which

they keep falling without

motion, almost,

that slowly, it seems they’ll fall

forever, my

pretty consorts, to whom

sometimes—out of pity,

not mercy, for

nothing tender

about it—I show the darker

powers I’ve hardly shown

to anyone: Feel the weight of them,

I say, before putting them back,

just behind my heart, where they blacken

and thrive.

Carl Phillips | The Darker Powers, from Reconnaissance, 2015

 

FABULOUS FRANKE

IN OTHER WORDS | JHUMPA LAHIRI

This book is published in Italian + English, side by side. So good for the brain  ( + for stoking reveries of Roma)!

When the language one identifies with is far away, one does everything possible to keep it alive. Because words bring back everything: the place, the people, the life, the streets, the life, the sky, the flowers, the sounds. When you live without your own language you feel weightless and, at the same time, overloaded. You breathe another type of air, at a different altitude. You are always aware of the difference.

What does a word mean? And a life? In the end, it seems to me, the same thing. Just as a word can have many dimensions, many nuances, great complexity, so, too, can a person, a life. Language is the mirror, the principal metaphor. Because ultimately the meaning of a word, like that of a person, is boundless, ineffable.

Should I dream of a day, in the future, when I’ll no longer need the dictionary, the notebook, the pen? A day when I can read in Italian without tools, the way I read in English? Shouldn’t that be the point of all this? I don’t think so. When I read in Italian, I’m a more active reader, more involved, even if less skilled. I like the effort. I prefer the limitations. I know that in some way my ignorance is useful to me.

In a sense, I’m used to a kind of linguistic exile. My mother tongue, Bengali, is foreign in America. When you live in a country where your own language is considered foreign, you can feel a continuous sense of estrangement. You speak a secret, unknown language, lacking any correspondence to the environment. An absence that creates a distance within you.

 

♥ HITCHCOCK ♥

Love you, Buddy!

♥ 2010-2021 ♥

GOING FOR GOLD

Absolutely stunning and original! TELFAR for the gold too!

#flashbackfriday

FABULOUS FRANKE