I am a lion - no, not that sexy sleek lion of popular imagination that you're thinking of - but the real one. The fat lazy one that sits around and occasionlly gets up to steal someone's food. Ok, fine I'm also the sexy, sleek lion.
Je suis le ténébreux, - le veuf, - l'inconsolé,
Le Prince d'Aquitaine à la tour abolie:
Ma seule étoile est morte, - et mon luth constellé
Porte le soleil noir de la Mélancolie.
Eadem mutata resurgo ("I arise again the same though changed")
My major goal in life is to become the world's most powerful beautician.
Love to travel then return home and see it differently. Love to breathe, touch, make love to and suck up life. I always wanted to live close to the beating heart of existence, now I'm more cynical about any romaticized view of life but still feel driven by obsession and impulsiveness to pluck experiences and gather them into my sidebag.
Just love this poem as well so gonna post it:
You the beloved
lost in advance, you the never arrived,
I don't know what songs you like most.
No longer, when the future crests toward the present,
do I try to discern you. All the great
images in me - the landscape experienced far off,
cities and towers and bridges and un-
suspected turns in the path
and the forcefulness of those lands
once intertwined with gods:
all mount up in me to signify
you, who forever eludes.
Ah, you are the gardens!
With such hope I
watched them! An open window
in the country house -, and you almost
stepped out pensively to meet me. I found streets, -
you had just walked down them,
and sometimes in the merchants' shops the mirrors
were still reeling from you and gave back with a start
my too-sudden image. - Who knows if the same
bird did not ring through both of us
yesterday, alone, at evening?
Rainer Maria Rilke, written in Paris around 1913, from Uncollected Poems
1996 (Translation from the German by Edward Snow)
