“…what was becoming clear in that moment was that depression is a potentially lifesaving adaptive response: when our intelligence system perceives that there is not much to gain by carrying on with the tasks of life - when we are overcome by too much loss or are facing a period of too little gain - we shift into a state of dormancy we call ‘depression’.
by the same token, the cold-season shutdown that psychiatrists call seasonal affective disorder is actually a normal, if uncomfortable, recalibration for the energetically barren winter months that our species confronted during our ancestral past. this kind of motivational downshifting forces us to radically reconfigure our lives & ourselves to conserve energy. my brain was shutting down my motivational system to keep me from wasting any more behavioral energy on a dead-end path. feeling unable to get out of bed is a defense mechanism to keep people alive.”—peggy la cerra on brain mind depression & why we should shut the fuck up & hold the space rather thank think we know. (via thatonesuheirhammad)
I am often surprised when people talk about the total implausibility of the events in Márquez’s fiction. Having been born and lived in a deeply spiritual and extraordinarily resourceful part of the Caribbean, a lot of what might seem magical to others often seems quite plausible to me.
Of course a woman can live inside her cat, as the character Eva does in Márquez’s 1948 short story ‘Eva Is Inside Her Cat.’ Doesn’t everyone have an aunt who’s done that?
“To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people, that he could not understand why no one was as disturbed as he by the clicking of her heels on the paving stones, why no one else’s heart was wild with the breeze stirred by the sighs of her veils, why everyone did not go mad with the movements of her braid, the flight of her hands, the gold of her laughter. He had not missed a single one of her gestures, not one of the indications of her character, but he did not dare approach her for fear of destroying the spell.”—Gabriel García Márquez, Love in the Time of Cholera (via ughpoems)
Ian Crouch on Woodford Reserve’s controversial new ads: http://nyr.kr/1mdYvZm
“Despite the modern, fashionable feel of its new ads, Woodford Reserve’s definitions of gender are radically narrow, and its sense of the possibilities for human sexuality even narrower. Men must appeal to women, and women to men. To attract women, men have to be rugged and capable while maintaining a perfect veneer of nonchalance. Women can spot a phony or a wimp a mile away.”
“Toxic masculinity hurts men, but there’s a big difference between women dealing with the constant threat of being raped, beaten, and killed by the men in their lives, and men not being able to cry.”—Robert Jensen (via quoilecanard)
“New York just expects so much from a girl—acts like it can’t stand even the idea of a wasted talent or opportunity. And Miss Adele had been around. Rome says: enjoy me. London: survive me. New York: gimme all you got. What a thrilling proposition! The chance to be “all that you might be.” Such a thrill—until it becomes a burden. To put a face on—to put a self on—this had once been, for Miss Adele, pure delight. And part of the pleasure had been precisely this: the buying of things. She used to love buying things! Lived for it! Now it felt like effort, now if she never bought another damn thing again she wouldn’t even—”—Recommended Reading: The Paris Review has put its Zadie Smith short story “Miss Adele Amidst the Corsets" online. "New York just expects so much from a girl—acts like it can’t stand even the idea of a wasted talent or opportunity. And Miss Adele had been around.” (via millionsmillions)
Most people miss their whole lives, you know. Listen, life isn’t when you are standing on top of a mountain looking at a sunset. Life isn’t waiting at the altar or the moment your child is born or that time you were swimming in a deep water and a dolphin came up alongside you. These are fragments. Ten or twelve grains of sand spread throughout your entire existence. These are not life. Life is brushing your teeth or making a sandwich or watching the news or waiting for the bus. Or walking. Every day, thousands of tiny events happen and if you’re not watching, if you’re not careful, if you don’t capture them and make them count, your could miss it.
“The city seen from the Queensboro Bridge is always the city seen for the first time, in its first wild promise of all the mystery and the beauty in the world.”—F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby (via liquidnight)