For the first time since my death, he falls into a fitful, trembling sleep.
Achilles. I cannot bear to see you grieving.
His limbs twitch and shudder.
Give us both peace. Burn me and bury me. I will wait for you among the shades.
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For the first time since my death, he falls into a fitful, trembling sleep.
Achilles. I cannot bear to see you grieving.
His limbs twitch and shudder.
Give us both peace. Burn me and bury me. I will wait for you among the shades.
Danez Smith, Don't Call Us Dead
Hieu Minh Nguyen, from “White Boy Time Machine: Instruction Manual”, Not Here
an excess of night, of silence.
Alejandra Pizarnik, Extracting the Stone of Madness: Poems 1962-1972: A Musical Hell; from ‘Dirges’, tr. Yvette Siegert
My love language is to sit with you without saying or doing anything. I'll just look in your eyes and will just admire you.
With reference to love letters, Roland Barthes summarized their key message as being: "I've got nothing to say to you, but it's to you I want to say this nothing."
"My darling, you hold so much sadness in your eyes I can almost touch the scars of your soul and cry."
– Alexandra Vasiliu
"After you, poetry will cease."
– A Peom By Nizar Qabbani, "Bilqis" (tr. from Arabic by Yasser Aman King Saud University, Saudi Arabia)
Nizar Qabbani was a Syrian poet and diplomat who was famous for his romantic, nationalist and feminist poetry. Balqis an Iraqi woman who was his second wife. On 15th December 1981, she died in a bomb blast in the Iraqi embassy in Beirut during the Lebanese Civil War. Her death depressed him deeply, and he spent most of his life in Europe after her death. The poem was reportedly written the same day Balqis passed away.
"the legends will remember me; they will hear of my glory, of my skill, they will call like a hymn: achilles, achilles, best of the greeks, best of the mortals, half of a god. they will call to me beyond the years that i've lived and cry: achilles, achilles. but i am here, with you in my arms, screaming, sobbing, until the gods at the deepest depths, in the darkest coves wake from their slumbers: patroclus, patroclus as if it is the only word i can dare to speak.”
- this is what hector has done to me, a.v (via pythiea)
— Clarice Lispector, from “Report on the Thing.”
— Raymond Carver, from “Gazebo.”
Tonight, across the lunar marvel. Kin, Igei [金武町,伊芸区] Okinawa [沖縄], Japan June 5, 2020
𝙸𝚗𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚛𝚊𝚖: 𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚣𝚍𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚖𝚎𝚛
la jeune martyre de Paul Delaroche, 1855
Clarice Lispector, from “Preciousness", Complete Stories (tr. by Katrina Dodson)
you don't have to be good
Japanese Breakfast, Oscar Wilde, John Steinbeck, Wu Ruo Hsin
buy me a coffee
The tragic fate of two wandering souls.
"Will you come with me?” he asked.
The never-ending ache of love and sorrow. Perhaps in some other life I could have refused, could have torn my hair and screamed, and made him face his choice alone. But not in this one. He would sail to Troy and I would follow, even into death. “Yes,” I whispered. “Yes.”
Relief broke in his face, and he reached for me. I let him hold me, let him press us length to length so close that nothing might fit between us. Tears came, and fell. Above us, the constellations spun and the moon paced her weary course. We lay stricken and sleepless as the hours passed.
Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles