Paradox

"And then, too, I had learned early to assume something dark and lethal hidden at the heart of anything I loved. When I couldn’t find it, I responded, bewildered and wary, in the only way I knew how: by planting it there myself."

[feral-ballad]

Ona Gritz, from Beauty is a Verb: The New Poetry of Disability; "No"

[Text ID: "My hands / couldn't take you to the right place."]

[emahriel]

lost at sea

[ptimepoet]

[pityroad]

— from My Father Writes from Prison, Ocean Vuong, in 'Night Sky with Exit Wounds'

[text ID: some nights you are the lighthouse / some nights the sea / what this means is that I don't know / desire other than the need / to be battered & rebuilt /]

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

“In this world love has no color– yet how deeply my body is stained by yours.”

— Izumi Shikibu, from The Ink Dark Moon, trans. Jane Hirshfield with Mariko Aratani (Vintage Classics, 1990)

[raccooniruhi]

bury me.

do not bury me in the ground. bury me in your neck, your arms— let me be lost somewhere that feels like being found.

-RK

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

— jay vespertine (via letsbelonelytogetherr)

[shisasan]

4 March, 1927 The Letters of Vita Sackville-West to Virginia Woolf (1924-1941)

[heavensghost]

Averno, Louise Glück

[weltenwellen]

Joanna Klink, from “On Diminishment”, The Nightfields

[weltenwellen]

Rebecca Ross, Ruthless Vows

[kafk-a]

Sanna Wani

[typewriter-worries]

[ Text ID:

Tomorrow is a Place

We meet at a coffee shop. So much time has passed and who is time? Who is waiting by the windowsill? We make plans to go to a museum but we go to a bookshop instead. We’re leaning in, learning how to talk to each other again. I say, I’m obsessed with my grief and she says, I’m always in mourning. She laughs and it’s an extension of her body. She laughs and it moves the whole room. I say, My home is an extension of my body and she says, Most days are better with a long walk. The world moves without us—so we tend to a garden, a graveyard, a pot on the windowsill. Death is a comfort because it says, Transform but don’t hurry. There is a tenderness to growing older and we are listening for it. Steadier ways to move through the world and we are learning them. A way to touch your own body. A touch that says, Dig deeper. There, in the ground, there is our memory. I am near enough my roots. Time is my friend. Tomorrow is a place we are together. ]

[nctolu]

㊣ silent  PALE  wonderland ㊣

[emahriel]

a soul he refused to curse

[suklad]

[shisasan]

Daniel Borovi

[samwolfeconnelly]

‘Hollow’

12 x 12″ Conte and mixed media

[weltenwellen]

Hanif Abdurraqib, A Little Devil in America: Notes in Praise of Black Performance

[gentlier]

Image I.D. — “When someone loves loudly, with everything they have in them, the withholding of that loud love, even briefly, feels impossible to endure.” — End I.D.