Phyllis

I have had enough— border-pinks, clove-pinks, wax-lilies, herbs, sweet-cress. O to blot out this garden to forget, to find a new beauty in some terrible wind-tortured place.

[in-love-with-world]

‧₊˚ 🦌✩ ₊˚ 🏔️ — mentally i am in this quiet corner of nature, listening to the birds singing, talking to the deer, finding peace and tranquility in the rustling of the leaves ✶

[soracities]

Eavan Boland, “A Woman Painted on a Leaf”

[Text ID: “I want a poem I can grow old in. I want a poem I can die in.”]

[weltenwellen]

Ada Limón, “To Be Made Whole”, On Being with Krista Tippett

[weltenwellen]

Rebecca Solnit, Hope In The Dark

[weltenwellen]

Rebecca Solnit, Hope in the Dark

Paul Eluard, “Right in the Middle of the Month of August”, Selected Poems(trans. Gilbert Bowen) (x)

[weltenwellen]

Ralph Ellison, Invisible Man

[petaltexturedskies]

Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights

[fayriequeene]

[vvargamora]

read a book here yesterday

[foraisefairy]

my bed is my favourite place in winter

[watchoutforintellect]

“A poem…begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness.”

— Robert Frost - from a letter to Louis Untermeyer (1 January 1916)

[a-quiet-green-agreement]

There's an architecture which is not shelter, but words. I say something, and a structure's there.

— Diane Glancy, from “At the Altar of American Indian Architecture,” Monkey Secret (TriQuarterly Books, 1995)

[becoming-with]

“Inspired by paradigms of wholeness and purity, our conception of psychological healing often comes to us heavy with metaphors of cleanliness and subtraction. Remove the trauma. Make a boundary. Identify the inciting incident. Disentangle it from your other parts. Separate, analyze, quantify, medicate. A patient is a fiction created by a conceptual framework with its foundation in capitalism and colonialism. A patient is a single self that can untie itself from the world and then granulate into a distinct pointillism of traumatic events, parental missteps, and pathologies. Analysis and diagnosis themselves are terms that, when we break them down to their roots, –imply just that - “breaking down”. Analysis comes from “analyein” meaning to “unfasten” “unmoor a ship”. A patient is isolated, unmoored, in a fictional idea of selfhood that is hardly seaworthy. Diagnosis, similarly, comes from the Greek roots “dia” and “gignoskein” meaning to obtain knowledge by separating it off from the rest of the world. Knowledge through separation, through rupture, through atomization. There is no better diagnosis for our culture’s ecocidal madness than the root of the word diagnosis itself. How do we possibly think we can understand any thing, being, ecosystem, pathology, uprooted, unmoored from its web of relationality? How do we treat a psychological breakdown with another break down? We are atomized out of community, out of our distributed bodies and intelligences that might have an easier time holding grief and pain too big for single selves. If we are always playing mental forensics with ourselves, increasingly stuck in a solipsistic feedback loop of self investigation, we often loose touch with the real knowledge.”

Sophie Strand, Texere-Diagnosis

[lunamonchtuna]

just me, Edgar Allan Poe and our unhealthy coping mechanisms (romanticizing melancholy) against the world.

[nyaa]

via

[kallistoi]

[video description: a video of a baby fox playing in a graveyard. end description.]

[helloneels17]

its okay babe i know things are pretty bad but one day a baby fox will frolick over our bones. the rubble, the decay, the decline....it will all be beautiful again

[coconutshipwreck]

❤️

[sioltach]

this website lets you listen to the sounds of all different forests around the world 

[thirdity]

“The real hero is always a hero by mistake; he dreams of being an honest coward like everybody else. […] He suffers and keeps his mouth shut; if anything, others then exploit him, making him a myth, while he, the man worthy of esteem, was only a poor creature who reacted with dignity and courage in an event bigger than he was.”

— Umberto Eco, Travels in Hyperreality

[sorrrowfull]

[trashyayo]

ladylilithtattoo

[papenathys]

Absolutely insane lines to just drop in the middle of an academic text btw. Feeling so normal about this.

[ A Critical History of English Literature, Vol. 1, Prof. David Daiches, first published in 1960 ]