lost reflections.

wordsworth seems to be feeling his way toward a balance: not the pure idea, wreathed in clouds, nor the visual image burned on the retina, overwhelming and disappointing us with its matter-of-fact clarity, but the sense image, kept as fleeting as possible, as a means towards stirring or activating the idea that lies buried more deeply in the soil of memory.

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I wish I didn’t see you today. Now I’m so damn bloody scared and I feel like crying. ARGHHH I’ve got so much to prove but no ability to do so.

Posted February 18, 2012 at 8:07 am

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