
Marcel Gromaire, Nu au Fauteuil Rose, 1931
Not Waving but Drowning by Stevie Smith Nobody heard him, the dead man, But still he lay moaning: I was much further out than you thought And not waving but drowning. Poor chap, he always loved larking And now he’s dead It must have been too cold for him his heart gave way, They said. Oh, no no no, it was too cold always (Still the dead one lay moaning) I was much too far out all my life And not waving but drowning.
Storm Night by Georg Trakl O the red evening tide! Gleaming at the open window swing vine leaves wound madly into sky and spirits of fear nestling within. Dust shimmies in the stench from drains. The wind presses its shards and rustles. Advance of wild horses, blitz-framed in garish flash of cloud bustle. Loud cracks the pond’s glaze. Seagulls shriek in window frames. The rider explodes out of the hill and crashes among the pines in flames. The sick cry out in hospital. The evening’s plumage buzzes blue. At once descends the booming glitter of rain onto the rooves.
Objective judgement, now, at this very moment. Unselfish action, now, at this very moment. Willing acceptance - now, at this very moment - of all external events. That's all you need. ~ Marcus Aurelius
What is Stoicism?
Gary Numan, Trois Gymnopedies (First Movement)