will you do this for me? and i'll do that for you.

I love your eyes, they make me feel so swoony. You drive me loony. You're teasing me.

[poetic-questions]

from Franz Kafka's "Letters to Felice"

[terrorignitis]

The philosophy of Care — Luigina Mortari

[89rooms]

In the end I was the clay and she was the sculptor, I thought, it's a shame that we have to live, but it's a tragedy that we get to live only one life, because if I'd had two lives, I would have spent one of them with her.

Jonathan Safran Foer - 'Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close'

[elizabethsproctor]

In a world that isn't ours, In a place we shouldn't be— For a minute, just a minute: We made it feel like home. For a minute, just for a minute You made it feel like home.

[stillgotscars]

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

[elizabethsproctor]

[elizabethsproctor]

For in his morning orisons he loves the sun and the sun loves him

Jubilate Agno, Christopher Smart

[elizabethsproctor]

When Winter comes, the winter wild that hill and wood shall slay; When trees shall fall and starless night devour the sunless day; When wind is in the deadly East, then in the bitter rain I'll look for thee, and call to thee; I'll come to thee again!

Song of the Ent and Entwife, J.R.R. Tolkien

[89rooms]

I want you to know one thing. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me.

Pablo Neruda - 'If You Forget Me'

[annori]

E.M. Forster from Maurice (1971)

[garadinervi]

Amiri Baraka, Wise I, in Indivisible. Poems for Social Justice, Foreword by Common, Edited by Gail Bush and Randy Meyer, Norwood House Press, Chicago, IL, 2013, p. 19

(on the way of Good Books – Black Bookstore)

[sun-death]

You are evil. A diseased missionary, you want the world to hear what you say, take your words as truth, all the while infecting it with what you are, with what you are really like. That is what is actually published – to the universe. Sorry. It is that simple. Flattering yourself with scientistic wonder that we – whoever that is – are star dust while your invisible life spreads everywhere its subtle slime. Nothing but you are at the centre and the periphery of the cosmic malignity. Will you at least have the decency to stop hiding the horror of yourself? (Behind critique, behind the object, behind hyperchaos, behind immanence, behind becoming, behind difference, behind the real, behind whatever.) Will you come out into the open?

Nicola Masciandaro, "Absolute Secrecy: On the Infinity of Individuation"

[louisegluckpdf]

painting this on the ceiling above my bed so it's the first thing i see upon waking in the morning and the last thing i see before falling asleep at night

[theotherkingdoms]

Ursula K. Le Guin, The Lathe of Heaven

[weltenwellen]

Mary Oliver, from “Forgive Me”, Blue Horses

[dhoopaurchandni]

[Text ID: She said,/When you see these horrible images why do you stay with them? /Why keep watching? Why not

go away? I was amazed./Go away where? I said./This still seems to me a good question.]

[Text ID:Why keep watching?/Some people watch, that’s all I can say./There is nowhere else to go,

no ledge to climb up to.]

—Anne Carson, The Glass Essay

[feral-ballad]

Dulce María Loynaz, tr. by James O’Connor, from Absolute Solitude: Selected Poems

[Text ID: “There is still one difference left between us. You have a tenderness grown weary and I have a weariness grown tender.”]