Kindness is a form of intelligence.
Nayyirah Waheed (via quotemadness)

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@janiejaane
Kindness is a form of intelligence.
Nayyirah Waheed (via quotemadness)
A little coffee. A little sunlight. Your troubles will get smaller.
Richard Webber (via kvtes)
Never give up on a dream just because of the time it will take to accomplish it. The time will pass anyway.
Earl Nightingale (via beamindful)
"The Average Fourth Grader Is A Better Poet Than You, (And Me Too)," Hannah Gamble
While in graduate school at the University of Houston, I supplemented my income by working as a writer in residence for Writers in the Schools (WITS). I was with WITS for three years, during which I visited third, fourth, and fifth grade classrooms, and worked with groups of students visiting the Menil museum of art, the Houston Historical Society, and the Houston Arboretum.
When first hired by WITS, I expected that working to explain some of my favorite poems to fourth graders would result in me becoming a better teacher of poetry. What I wasn’t expecting was that (thanks to having my brain blown apart on a weekly basis as I browsed my students’ folders of barely legible poems) I would become a better poet.
Here are some lines written by students in grades 3rd-6th:
“The life of my heart is crimson.”
[Writing about a family member’s recent death:]
“My brother went down/ to the river and put dirt on.”
“Peace be a song, silver pool of sadness”
“Away went a dull winter wind that rocked harshly, and bent you said, ‘Father, father’.”
[Writing about a terminal illness:]
“I am feeling burdened and I taste milk…… I mumble, ‘Please, please run away.’ But it lives where I live.”
“The owls of midnight hoot like me shutting the door to nothing.”
[Writing about life as a movie:]
“The choir enters, and the director screams ‘Sing with more terror!!!’”
“I have provisions. Binary muffins. It’s an in/out/in/out kind of universe. We cannot help you, this is a universe factory. A sound of rolling symbols. Disappearing rocks, screams of lizards. Sanity must prevail. Save vs. Do Not.”
“I, the star god, take bones from the underworlds of past times to create mankind.”
These young writers are addressing subjects that still obsess poets fifty years older: sadness, death, love, responsibility, aging, family, loneliness, and refuge…and they are addressing these subjects in language that is new, and thus has the power to emotionally effect a well-seasoned (/jaded) reader. The average fourth grader is able to do this because she hasn’t been alive long enough to know how to do it (and by “it” I mean talk about the world) any other way.
Story time: When I was a child I believed that one day I might be allowed to cross into an alternate dimension by walking through a quilt hanging on my living room wall. As I got older I stopped believing that this was a possibility—not because I grew to believe that the universe was not an extremely strange place where incomprehensible things could happen on a daily basis, but because I passed year after year after year not being able to enter the spirit realm through a wallhanging.
Anecdote that I hope you’ll find relevant: When Jean Piaget began studying the intellectual processes of children, he was not doing so because he had any special interest in children. Piaget was interested, rather, in the intellectual processes of (adult) humans and was seeking a control group. [His first thought was that the best control group would be comprised of martians but, as he did not have access to martians, he decided to use children since children possessed what is farthest from human consciousness.]
So let’s look at what happens to our young writers as they age [I took these lines from poems written by middle-school/ high school students (Italics, mine)]:
Snacking on this and that my friends and I keep the party going even when it is over”
“Whispers of a secret crush being unraveled”
“I’m trapped in this hole that I can’t break through”
“Barack Obama in the White House. I can feel the inspiration Can you feel it?”
“Now I feel secure with my head held high.
Sad times. By middle school/high school, the average student has learned how normal people talk. The resulting language is underwhelming and predictable—the safe regurgitations of a thoroughly socialized consciousness.
While the average older student’s poems are heavy with allegiance to a limited view of reality, the average younger writer’s vision of the world is nimble and surprising—bazaar, yet true.
Last year I spent every Saturday tutoring an extremely undersocialized kid in vocab. When I taught her the word blandishments (“to flatter, coax, sweet-talk, appeal to”) she wrote this sentence: “The blandishments of the sugar flowers made the cake so much more inviting.”
The sentence is interesting because the student understood that a blandishment is something that attracts favorable attention without fully realizing that people almost always use the word to refer to a human action.
The poet’s job is to forget how people do it.
(source)
Never has such a short line of text completely broken my heart like “my brother went down to the river / and put dirt on”
daystarsearcher
hitoritabi
“The way I feel now is I’ve stepped out of the woods and I’m a forest animal and I’m standing on the lawn,” she says. “And if anybody tried to approach me right now, they’re seeing a creature that’s just trying to figure out what the lawn is like. All I’m thinking about is the lawn. I’m not thinking about whether or not they are going to be a fun person to be on the lawn with, because I am just trying to be on the lawn.”
And what or where is this lawn?
“It’s just where I am,” she says. “I like the lawn. It’s filled with air, freedom, sunlight, and I’m alone.”
Jenny Slate in “The Year of Living Publicly,” Jada Yuan.
Consider this: You can see less than 1% of the electromagnetic spectrum and hear less than 1% of the acoustic spectrum. As you read this, you are traveling at 220 km/sec across the galaxy. 90% of the cells in your body carry their own microbial DNA and are not “you.” The atoms in your body are 99.9999999999999999% empty space and none of them are the ones you were born with, but they all originated in the belly of a star. Human beings have 46 chromosomes, 2 less than the common potato. The existence of the rainbow depends on the conical photo-receptors in your eyes; to animals without cones, the rainbow does not exist. So you don’t just look at a rainbow, you create it.
NASA Lunar Science Institute, 2012 (via cylon)
Time expands, then contracts, all in tune with the stirrings of the heart.
Kafka on the shore.
When you fall for someone’s personality, everything about them becomes beautiful.
Reeva Steenkamp (via thelovejournals)
I was told by someone that Jane means healing spirit and guardian in their culture. And that when you are sick or in need of healing that you would want to be around a Jane, Juana, or Juanita.
First time I actually liked my name.
A part of kindness consists in loving people more than they deserve.
Joseph Joubert
(via purplebuddhaproject)
Groovin
I feel it coming by the weekend is stuck in my head forever and ever and ever.
So I have Spotify premium, Netflix, and Hulu because my life loves let me piggy back off them hahaha.
Black mirror is such a mind blower.