deep space begins at our heels

[gerrycanavan]

life is short, though I keep this from my children

[ten-hills-deactivated20221004]

This poem.

[thorodinson]

Moonlight / 2016 / dir. Barry Jenkins

[rabbit-light]

Lucky

All this time, the life you were supposed to live has been rising around you like the walls of a house designed with warm harmonious lines.

As if you had actually planned it that way.

As if you had stacked up bricks at random, and built by mistake a lucky star.

Kirsten Dierking

[amythofdevotion]

what’s the frequency

Been aching to put words down for the last few weeks but I don’t do it. There’s always something grown-up and necessary to attend to. When I was a teenager, one of my mother’s friends told me I had beautiful hands. She told me not to work them too hard. These days, it seems like my hands are always under the hot tap, nails picking at yesterday’s breakfast crusted on cheap plates. Wring out the sponge. Spray the worktop with the green stuff that approximates the scent of apples. Sweep the floors. Throw away whatever’s rotting. Sleep, wake, sleep, wake, sleep, wake, sleep. I try to get eight hours a night, but I wake often, startled by the grunting of the boiler or the wind scratching at the windows or by nothing at all.

[amythofdevotion]

What I've been up to

[exceptindreams]

Poem Without Forgiveness | Dean Young

“Poem Without Forgiveness” Dean Young

The husband wants to be taken back into the family after behaving terribly, but nothing can be taken back, not the leaves by the trees, the rain by the clouds. You want to take back the ugly thing you said, but some shrapnel remains in the wound, some mud. Night after night Tybalt’s stabbed so the lovers are ground in mechanical aftermath. Think of the gunk that never comes off the roasting pan, the goofs of a diamond cutter. But wasn’t it electricity’s blunder into inert clay that started this whole mess, the I- echo in the head, a marriage begun with a fender bender, a sneeze, a mutation, a raid, an irrevocable fuckup. So in the meantime: epoxy, the dog barking at who knows what, signals mixed up like a dumped-out tray of printer’s type. Some piece of you stays in me and I’ll never give it back. The heart hoards its thorns just as the rose profligates. Just because you’ve had enough doesn’t mean you wanted too much.

[amythofdevotion]

La plus ça change

A year later, I still hate all your friends. I choked down five shots of JD so I could sit placidly in their company. They have nothing to offer me. The bus to work takes an hour in the morning and even longer to get home in the evening. I leave home at 730 and come home at 630. Sometimes I read or listen to French lessons. Today I hid my face and cried because things are falling apart again. Life is unfair. Five months and I'm gonna run again.

[jakeelko]

Two different, perfectly timed photos. Super psyched on them

jakeelko.tumblr.com

instagram-@lordelko

[amythofdevotion]

Self-portraits of the intrepid dissertation writer via desk

[exceptindreams]

In Those Years | Adrienne Rich

“In Those Years” Adrienne Rich

In those years, people will say, we lost track of the meaning of we, of you we found ourselves reduced to I and the whole thing became silly, ironic, terrible: we were trying to live a personal life and yes, that was the only life we could bear witness to But the great dark birds of history screamed and plunged into our personal weather They were headed somewhere else but their beaks and pinions drove along the shore, through the rags of fog where we stood, saying I

[active-minds]

Nobody will protect you from your suffering. You can’t cry it away or eat it away or starve it away or walk it away or punch it away or even therapy it away. It’s just there, and you have to survive it. You have to endure it. You have to live though it and love it and move on and be better for it and run as far as you can in the direction of your best and happiest dreams across the bridge that was built by your own desire to heal.

Dear Sugar, “Tiny Beautiful Things” (via petrichour)

[healingsuggestions]

you are growing from this you are growing from this you are growing from this

[lifeinpoetry]

There is a kind of pressure in humans to take whatever is most beloved by them / and smash it.

Anne Carson, from “Book of Isaiah,” Glass, Irony, and God  (via petrichour)

[canadianbeerandpostmodernism]

Loneliness does not come from having no people about one, but from being unable to communicate the things that seem important to oneself, or from holding certain views which others find inadmissible.

Carl Jung (via canadianbeerandpostmodernism)

[samonta]

[amythofdevotion]

I feel dead inside.

[amythofdevotion]

I have daydreams about gold bands, tablecloths and a lifetime of making packed lunches for someone to take to work. How I'll grow domesticated, like a common breed of cat. Maybe in these scenes, I'd find happiness. But most likely not. The bread will mold as the dishes crust in the crowded sink. I'll miss my mother, my father, my brother and the mountains until it's too late.