literature outlives us all.

main: @trashfireinc

[nixscriptum]

[brightdeadthing]

Come. And Be My Baby, Maya Angelou

[gldgod]

we’re going to die someday . & isn’t it a miracle that we knew each other ? that we loved , that we fought , that you set my heart aflame in more ways than one ? one day all that we know will be in essence nothingness - nothing that even matters to us anymore . nothing that we can see , hear , or touch . & despite the glorious romance & utter tragedy of our intertwining & severing , & unspoken visits - it was just a blink of the universe’s eye . a brief flash - & this is why when i think of you , i feel an overflowing tenderness where i once felt bitterness . because everything is going to fade , & isn’t it lovely that we had anything before it turned to nothing ?

[mullingar]

just read a poem that fr stopped my heart 

[mullingar]

“no goodbyes” by paul monette for roger horwitz

for hours at the end I kissed your temple stroked your hair and sniffed it it smelled so clean we’d washed it Saturday night when the fever broke as if there was always the perfect thing to do to be alive for years I’d breathe your hair when I came to bed late it was such pure you why I nuzzle your brush every morning because you’re in there just like the dog the night we unpacked the hospital bag and he skipped and whimpered when Dad put on the red sweater Cover my bald spot will you you’d say and tilt your head like a parrot so I could fix you up always always till this one night when I was reduced to I love you little friend here I am my sweetest pea over and over spending all our endearments like stray coins at a border but wouldn’t cry then no choked it because they all said hearing was the last to go the ear is like a wolf’s till the very end straining to hear a whole forest and I wanted you loping off whatever you could still dream to the sound of me at 3 P.M. you were stable still our favorite word at 4 you took the turn WAIT WAIT I AM THE SENTRY HERE nothing passes as long as I’m where I am we go on death is a lonely hole two can leap it or else or else there is nothing this man is mine he’s an ancient Greek like me I do all the negotiating while he does battle we are war and peace in a single bed we wear the same size shirt it can’t it can’t be yet not this just let me brush his hair it’s only Tuesday there’s chicken in the fridge from Sunday night he ate he slept oh why don’t all these kisses rouse you I won’t won’t say it all I will say is goodnight patting a few last strands in place you’re covered now my darling one last graze in the meadow of you and please let your final dream be a man not quite your size losing the whole world but still here combing combing singing your secret names till the night’s gone

[spiltlove]

idk what this is I can barely type I’m so out of it

[goreprofonde]

- Tory Adkisson, Anecdote of the Pig.

[seaoflove]

https://evelionheart.medium.com/on-the-intimacy-of-the-mundane-863f9efb3c39

[brokenheartedcubscout]

I think I am a better ghost than I am a human being

Landscape with Fruit Rot and Millipede, Richard Siken | Ghosts of right now, Dillon Samuelson  | Faces in the Crowd, Valeria Luiselli

[renegademp3]

Mabel: Matryoshka [ep.28] - Becca De La Rosa and Mabel Martin

[luthienne]

Gregory Orr, from Poetry as Survival

(transcription below cut)

What if we were to say that the lines and images we love are like stars and that we make them into constellations by our own positive acts of imagination? That we create our own personal constellations out of poems and parts of poems we write or read? Such a constellation is an emblem of our individual self blazing in the sky. Creating this constellation, we are creating a picture of our deepest self and its concerns. And we are free to add stars to this constellation as a new crisis happens to us. Or to create an entirely new constellation for that matter. We have that freedom and power. This personal constellation of our favorite poems and lines of poems "governs" our life in the positive sense that it regulates and stabilizes our life. It even sponsors self-transformation by guiding us toward an idealized self we might aspire to.

[soracities]

e.e. cummings, from “[i like my body when it is with your body]” (excerpt from & [And]), Complete Poems: 1904-1962

[Text ID: “i like my body when it is with your body.    It is so quite a new thing. Muscles better and nerves more. i like your body.    i like what it does, i like its hows.   i like to feel the spine of your body and its bones,and the trembling -firm-smooth ness and which i will again and again and again kiss,   i like kissing this and that of you, i like,slowly stroking the,shocking fuzz of your electric fur,and what-is-it comes over parting flesh … And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new”

[syringavulgaris]

Mary Oliver, March

[derangedrhythms]

Jonathan Safran Foer, from ‘Everything Is Illuminated’

[kafk-a]

Louise Glück, from an interview with poet in Poets & Writers

[bitesgod]

on being her friend

“funeral”, phoebe bridgers / “pink skies”, lany / “jean and susan”, john bratby / “a summer’s tale”, dir. éric rohmer / “cupid’s chokehold / breakfast in america”, gym class heroes / untitled, @doriantomybasil / “piglet’s big movie”, dir. francis glebas / “by means which have never yet been tried” (orphan black: season two, episode ten), dir. john fawcett.

[mirroredroads]

on wanting what you cannot have

Gemma Troy, Heart Lines. / Chunking Express (1994) dir. Wong Kar-wai / Washing Machine Heart (2018) Mitski / silhouette, park slope, Brooklyn @joelzimmer / Sylvia Plath, Poppies in July / Lossapardo / Clarice Lispector, Àgua Viva

[hungryblueghost]

Marya Hornbacher, Wasted