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Quote by Sondra Charbadze

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The Sea Once Swallowed Me: A Memoir of Love, Solitude, and the Limits of Language

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Sondra Charbadze

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“Girl dancer! Oh you shifting Of all that passes into steps: how you manage that! And the eddy at the end, a tree made from a vortex, Does it not take full possession of the swirling year? And the tip of your tree, does it not blossom Quietly above you, from your spinning? Is it not Your limitless warmth, the sun, The summer, its heat? But your tree of ecstasy bears, Gives quiet fruit: the flagon streaked with ripeness, And the vase riper still.”

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“Oh arrive and leave. You were still half a child, Completing a dancing pose for but a moment, The pure form of a star constellation, which is One of the ways in which we overcome the mindless random order Of Nature, also just for a moment. For it was only when Orpheus sang That Nature awoke and heard, was quickened in alertness. Though far away in time, this stirred you. And you were somewhat Surprised that a tree considered so slowly and hesitated To join with you in hearing it. You sensed the very place where the lyre Raised itself aloft -; the mid-point which has never been heard. For you ventured your beautiful steps And you hoped, one day in holy celebration To alter the course and countenance of your friend. (Her friend is himself.)”

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“Ii do not walk with alienation everywhere I go in the world. I have been to small taverns in rural Ohio, big city bars, San Francisco bath houses, and in all these have felt welcome and happy. But walking through that sunglassed throng, I felt like a Martian. I didn't hate the feeling - indeed, being a black woman in the academy, it wasn't new to me - but it was interesting. I kept wondering: where is the performance? When will the performance start? Is this the performance - me walking through this space without sunglasses with all these Nordic quasi-hipster white people in multi-colored, motorcycle cop sunglasses?”

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“Aliens (intermediate programmers) are not creating computer games in the ordinary sense of the term. These games are more like works of art, improvisational theater, performance art, scientific and philosophic investigation and historical novels.”

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Book:Alien Parasites: 40 Gnostic Truths to Defeat the Archon Invasion!
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“The Coffeehouse Troubadour by Stewart Stafford I am The Coffeehouse Troubadour; Catchpenny conduit of all your pain, Nanosecond glance, a collective boil lanced, And my mirror refracts again. You mix my words in bitterest cups, Laced to an addictive latte brew, Read the room as we slowly dance And see, it's not about me, it's about you. Did you catch the trick I pulled there? Would you like me to show you once more? Or put on your coat in silent meditation? A rainy baptism as you walk through the door? © 2025, Stewart Stafford. All rights reserved.”

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“Turning my right hand over, he notices the half-moon-shaped birthmark that no one never notices. "What's this?" he asks. "A pudding stain." He looks like he believes me. "Really?" "No. It's a birthmark." "You're like a painting," he says, "constantly revealing new things." I stare at Frank like he can't be serious, and he laughs and says, "What? It's true!" "The pickup handbook?" I ask. "You can't take everything in to for gospel, but it's amazingly instructive," he says, running his finger back and forth over the café au lait spot.”

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Book:Girl Cook: A Novel
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