Haniyeh > Recent Status Updates

Is this what you want? To drop yourself into a still-life painting of a memory because life has broken your heart?

His hands on his father’s casket and the stark realization that life is pain and always will be.

Memory is all he’s made of. All anything is made of.

When Barry looks into the night sky, he’s seeing stars whose light took a year, or a hundred, or a million to reach him. The telescopes that peer into deep space are looking at ten-billion-year-old light from stars that coalesced just after the universe began.
He’s looking back, not just through space but through time.

He knows, on an intellectual level, that when he looks at any object, he’s looking back in time. In the case of his own hand, it takes the light a nanosecond—one billionth of a second—to transport the image to his eyes. When he looks at the research station from half a mile away, he’s seeing the structure as it existed 2,640 nanosecond ago.

He’s lived long enough to know that the memory hurt because many years ago, in a dead timeline, he experienced a perfect moment.

On a night like this, of a restless mind and dreams of ghosts, time feels secondary to the true prime mover—memory.

The instant familiarity of being in her presence felt, not just like he’d known her all his life but as if he were waking up for the first time.

When a person dies, he only appears to die. He is still very much alive in the past... All moments, past, present and future, always have existed, always will exist. It is just an illusion we have here on Earth that one moment follows another one, like beads on a string, and that once a momeis gone it is gone forever.
Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

Progress is inevitable.

He wonders—is deja vu actually the specter of false timelines that never happened but did, casting their shadows upon reality?

His father died when Barry was fifteen from an aortic aneurysm, sudden and unexpected. With his mom, he has years to say goodbye, to make certain she knows he loves her, to say all the things that are in his heart, and there is immeasurable comfort in that. He has wondered lately if that’s all living really is—one long goodbye to those we love.

Think of our life like a book. Each page a distinct moment. But in the same way we read a book, we can only perceive one moment, one page, at a time. Our flawed perception shuts off access to all the others. Until now.

He thinks perhaps there’s a reason our memories are kept hazy and out of focus. Maybe their abstraction serves as an anesthetic, a buffer protecting us from the agony of time and all it steals and erases.

What’s more precious than our memories? They define us and form our identities.

Everything will look better in the morning.
There will be hope again when the lights returns.
The despair is only an illusion, a trick the darkness plays.

What is it that you want?
-Only to be with you.
Why?
-Because that is how one survives eternity. Or even a few years.

You need to know where you’ve come from to know where you’re going.

There’s more than one way to be human.

When he finally speaks I find myself thinking that his voice has become so thin and weary. Once, he made the very stones ripple with the wry, edged humor of his earthtalk. Now he sounds old. Thousands of years of ceaseless existence will do that to a man.

Such insignificant vermin, apart from our unfortunate tendency to sometimes make ourselves dangerously significant.

People believe what they want to believe, not what is actually there to be seen and touched and sessed.

Some things are easier when not faced alone.

No. She should forget me and Meov. Find some boring fool she actually wants to sleep with. Have a boring life. She deserves that.

I think that if you love someone, you don’t get to choose how they love you back.

That does not mean something is impossible just because it is very, very hard.

For some crimes, there is no fitting justice—only reparation.

Was this too fast? Perhaps tragedies should not ve summarized so bluntly. I meant to be merciful, not cruel. That you had to live it is cruelty... but distance, detachment, heals. Sometimes.

Sometimes it is the how of a thing, not just the endgame, that matters most.

How can we prepare for the future if we won’t acknowledge the past?