“I learned that being understanding for too long feels a lot like abandonment of yourself.”
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YOU ARE THE REASON
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@flashypegasus
“I learned that being understanding for too long feels a lot like abandonment of yourself.”
Richard Feynman’s letter to his late wife.
Rose Brik - the softness that survives
(@rosebrikpoet on instagram)
Watching from the City
I watch cars on the highway
from a bridge high above.
Streaking taillights
fill the night
like fish, orange and red
and when the rain comes,
the highway melts
in ribbons of tears.
You ate paint.
When you puked it up
it stained the carpet
in Kandinskys and Stills
slick with red and blue and green.
You swallowed it
as you swallowed the world:
thickly
with mucous
in big garish chunks
because you said you could
and nobody would stop you.
You couldn't help that the world
was old and leaden
taken from the back cabinet of a school
where the pipes made you sick
so was it really your fault
what happened next?
The paint
the pipes
they poisoned your heart, they say.
Whose fault was it
if not yours?
Nobody stopped you for the walls
which you chewed like chalk
or the water
which tasted of metal
or the $1 hamburgers
which you gulped so greedily.
Nobody warned you.
You didn't let them.
You always had a hard time with authority.
You wouldn't stop
not when people told you to
not when you puked blood on the nubbly carpet
not when you couldn't eat anything solid for a month
not when you fainted and seized just from standing
not for anything
not for anybody.
You didn't stop
not for the world
not even for yourself.
You called yourself a visionary.
Did it hurt
when you fell?
Were you strong
when you hit the asphalt?
Did you laugh
and push away the paramedics
and run with wounds gaping
like you always hoped?
Or were you already gone
waiting for flowers at a funeral
and a terrible quiet little grave
that nobody would attend
and nobody would remember
just like you always feared?
You were so scared of being forgotten.
Does it matter
now that you are gone?
Were you strong?
You always said you were.
Tell me the truth—
did it hurt
when the world did not swerve
to catch you?
You fell so beautifully
curling perfect
from the bridge
but the ground was not merciful
like you always hoped. The asphalt
cut your lungs, the tyres
crushed your bones
to fine white powder
and I'm scared to admit
when I saw you
all I could feel
was relief.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀
On the bridge,
I sling my backpack over my shoulder
and walk. My exhale clouds the air
as more fog to join the haze
and I find myself standing
breathing
burning bright
against the blackness of the world.
- Stygian Blue (https://wanderers-library.wikidot.com/watching-from-the-city)
A collection of extraordinary stories, hidden from ordinary eyes.
A part of me is missing
The Changing of the Seasons
Summer doesn’t slip away
she walks alongside us
then further just out of our reach
where she lays her lithe self down
in a soft green meadow
to sleep
she danced through the fields in warmth
joined by field mice and honey bees
but now she must sleep
warmed by a blanket of soft white
She will wake
on a soft dewy morning
and stretch her arms
with the rising of a warm sun
The train utters one long breathless howl as it runs, I feel its shaking as the buzz in my ears, it reminds me of the endless horrible hum of life, the way I have to remember to breathe as I try to sleep, or hold hunger that feels like suffocation, or feel my eyes float two feet away from my face after a bad coffee high. I like the tickling, though, in my ears. It feels like listening, the vibrations, even though I can’t hear anything: a facsimile of sense, like chewing gum, like watching a good film. I’m here listening to the sound of myself listening. I’m here listening to the sound of myself being alive. And sometimes I stop needing to remember to breathe.
Days at the Morisaki Bookshop - Satoshi Yagisawa
Days at the Morisaki Bookshop - Satoshi Yagisawa
All the lovers in the night - Mieko Kawakami
— unknown