— STANISŁAW BARAŃCZAK, translated from the Polish by the author & Clare Cavanagh.
ojovivo
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todays bird
macklin celebrini has autism

Discoholic 🪩
The Bowery Presents
Game of Thrones Daily
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Not today Justin

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he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
taylor price
art blog(derogatory)
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

#extradirty
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★
Sweet Seals For You, Always
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@theartofmadeline
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@erermela
— STANISŁAW BARAŃCZAK, translated from the Polish by the author & Clare Cavanagh.
varying degrees of depression help somewhat set the days apart. even admitting to myself (i am depressed) as i daily take my antidepressants feels like a lie. i still hold myself to a higher standard than anyone else. i still expect myself to perform mentally, emotionally and pragmatically as if i wasn’t depressed. “theres a certain squeamishness” in saying i deal w depression. it probably has to do with the fact that i used to experience severe depression but now i can be functional and hold down a job.
'many scratched doors,' 1994 in sigalit landau - gabriele horn + ruth ronen (2008)
“Music never stops; it is only the listening that is intermittent.”
— Henry David Thoreau
I don't think God is this entity out there altogether apart from us. "The eye with which I see God is the eye with which God sees me," says Meister Eckhart, a quote which I'm sure you know and which is no doubt overused. But it does get at an important truth. Attention enables God's presence. The life and love that are God are catalyzed by the life and love we expend in his direction, whatever form that expenditure takes (art, prayer, worship, theology, maybe anything beneficent that is done with "absolutely unmixed attention," as Weil puts it). God really is more of a verb than a noun, as are our "selves."
Miroslav Volf and Christian Wiman, Glimmerings: Letters on Faith Between a Poet and a Theologian
Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace
Anne Carson from red doc>
Today I am paralyzed and dumb. And if I try to speak, all that emerges is a sad little roar. Ah, so it’s not just rage? No, it’s sadness too.
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Too Much of Life: Complete Chronicles (Clarice Lispector)
Home life. Tit, Tiny, and Tittens. 1865.
Internet Archive
Scanned from the book Imazighen: The Vanishing Traditions of Berber Women; 1996; Margaret Courtney-Clarke
Evening Wind by Edward Hopper
the undertaking by Louise Glück
A woman must stay alone for a long while until the hate men have for women has left her, and even longer until the jealousy women have for other women has left her, and longer still until the anger her children have for her has left her—until she is no longer a woman altered by the resentment of men, women, and children, no longer what others have forced her to be, but empty as a skull or a shell, filled only by whatever she pleases, forest air perhaps.
— Kiran Desai, The Loneliness of Sonia and Sunny
Energy Ecstasy and Your Seven Vital Chakras, Bernard Gunther (North Hollywood: Newcastle Publishing Co., 1983), p31.
[A]nxiety appears in [...] the instant when the subject is suspended between a moment at which he no longer knows where he is, and a shift towards a moment when he will become something in which he will never be able to find himself again. That's what anxiety is.
Lacan, J. (2022) The Seminar of Jacques Lacan. Book IV: The Object Relation (1956–1957). Edited by J.-A. Miller. Translated by A. R. Price. Cambridge: Polity Press. p. 218.