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Choose life instead of those prisms with no depth even if their
colors are purer
Instead of this hour always hidden instead of these terrible
vehicles of cold flame
Instead of these overripe stones
Choose this heart with its safety catch
Instead of that murmuring pool
And that white fabric singing in the air and the earth at the same
time
Instead of that marriage blessing joining my forehead to total
vanity's
Choose life
Choose life with its conspiratorial sheets
Its scars from escapes
Choose life choose that rose window on my tomb
The life of being here nothing but being here
Where one voice says Are you there where another answers Are
you there
I'm hardly here at all alas
And even when we might be making fun of what we kill
Choose life
Choose life choose life venerable Childhood
The ribbon coming out of a fakir
Resembles the playground slide of the world
Though the sun is only a shipwreck
Insofar as a woman's body resembles it
You dream contemplating the whole length of its trajectory
Or only while closing your eyes on the adorable storm named
your hand
Choose life
Choose life with its waiting rooms
When you know you'll never be shown in
Choose life instead of those health spas
Where you're served by drudges
Choose life unfavorable and long
When the books close again here on less gentle shelves
And when over there the weather would be better than better it
would be free yes
Choose life
Choose life as the pit of scorn
With that head beautiful enough
Like the antidote to that perfection it summons and it fears
Life the makeup on God's face
Life like a virgin passport
A little town like Pont-á-Mousson
And since everything's already been said
Choose life instead
Lit nerd here. I was rereading André Breton's (incredibly influential!) Premier manifeste du surréalisme yesterday and found this Lynchian Easter egg when I read the last lines:
> Cet été les roses sont bleues; le bois c’est du verre. La terre drapée dans sa verdure me fait aussi peu d’effet qu’un revenant. C’est vivre et cesser de vivre qui sont des solutions imaginaires. L’existence est ailleurs.
> This summer the roses are blue; the woods are made of glass. The earth draped in its greenness makes as little impression upon me as a ghost. It is living and ceasing to live that are imaginary solutions. Existence is elsewhere. (my translation)
The manifesto is a call to destroy conventions and pour the contents of the subconscious mind into art (Buñuel and Dalí took this to heart by combining two of their dreams in the movie Un chien andalou).
And, then, of course, there's The Glass Menagerie (and Tennessee Williams was a student of surrealism, for sure). The character Laura is nicknamed "Blue Roses" by Jim. She was sick from school for an extended period as a kid with pleurosis--and told Jim when she got back. He heard "Blue Roses" and started calling her that.
> LAURA: Wasn't it - Blue Roses?
> JIM: [springs up. Grinning]: Blue Roses! - My gosh, yes - Blue Roses! That's what I had on my tongue when you opened the door ! Isn't it funny what tricks your memory plays? I didn't connect you with high school somehow or other.
> But that's where it was; it was high school. I didn't even know you were Shakespeare's sister !
> Gosh, I'm sorry.
> [continued...]
> JIM: Aw, yes, I've placed you now I I used to call you Blue Roses. How was it that I got started calling you that?
> LAURA: I was out of school a little while with pleurosis. When I came back you asked me what was the matter. I said I had pleurosis - you thought I said Blue Roses That's what you always called me after that...
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"I myself shall continue living in my glass house where you can always see who comes to call; where everything hanging from the ceiling and on the walls stays where it is as if by magic, where I sleep nights in a glass bed, under glass sheets, where who I am will sooner or later appear etched by a diamond."
