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The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper, blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars letting in the light, peephole after peephole--- a bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
-Sylvia Plath
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The Night Sky Is Only A Sort

Sylvia Plath
The night sky is only a sort of carbon paper, blueblack, with the much-poked periods of stars letting in the light, peephole after peephole--- a bonewhite light, like death, behind all things.
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Stars Night Light

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People have stars, but they aren't the same. for travelers, the stars are guides. for other people, they're nothing but tiny lights. and for still others, for scholars, they're problems... but all those stars are silent stars. you, though, you'll have stars like nobody else... since i'll be laughing on one of them, for you it'll be as if all the stars are laughing. you'll have stars that can laugh!... and it'll be as if i had given you, instead of stars, a lot of tiny bells that know how to laugh.
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Life is a peephole, a single tiny entry onto a vastness--how can i not dwell on this brief, cramped view of things? this peephole is all i've got!
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Someone's killed 100,000 people. we're almost going, "well done! you killed 100,000 people? you must get up very early in the morning! i can't even get down the gym. your diary must look odd: 'get up in the morning, death, death, death, death, death, death, death - lunch - death, death, death - afternoon tea - death, death, death - quick shower ...' "
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I like "rock, paper, scissors two-thirds." you know. "rock breaks scissors." "these scissors are bent. they're destroyed. i can't cut stuff. so i lose." "scissors cuts paper." "these are strips. this is not even paper. it's gonna take me forever to put this back together." "paper covers rock." "rock is fine. no structural damage to rock. rock can break through paper at any point. just say the word. paper sucks." there should be "rock, dynamite with a cutable wick, scissors."
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We look up and we hope the stars look down, we pray that there may be stars for us to follow, stars moving across the heavens and leading us to our destiny, but it's only our vanity. we look at the galaxy and fall in love, but the universe cares less about us than we do about it, and the stars stay in their courses however much we may wish upon them to do otherwise. it's true that if you watch the sky-wheel turn for a while you'll see a meteor fall, flame and die. that's not a star worth following; it's just an unlucky rock. our fates are here on earth. there are no guiding stars.
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You couldn't be here if stars hadn't exploded, because the elements - the carbon, nitrogen, oxygen, iron, all the things that matter for evolution - weren't created at the beginning of time. they were created in the nuclear furnaces of stars, and the only way they could get into your body is if the stars were kind enough to explode. so, forget jesus. the stars died so that you could be here today.
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