So It Goes... @mehahu - Tumblr Blog

It’s a November morning in 2014. This has all been a bad dream. Your tumblr crush just posted something that made you smile. You have a literature class later today and you’re excited to start your assignment for poetry class. You ride your bike around campus and think about last night when you sat in your friend’s dorm room makeshift fort and listened to Sufjan Stevens records. Cardigans are still in style and your bedroom has string lights hung up. Your grandmother is still alive and you still have hope in friendships.

kafkasapartment

Still life with a plate of onions, early January, 1889. Vincent van Gogh. Oil on canvas.

wedarkacademia

It is so strange to me how much my life has changed. It amazes me how I’ve cultivated my life to the point where I love my everyday. I’ve put together a home with books, records, art, and comfort. I’ve brought friends together and fed them with food I make with my own hands. I take photographs of my time with my friends while we adventure in the wild. I rock climb, kayak, scuba dive, hike, camp, and travel, things me 10 years would only dream of. I’m doing a masters in something I love. I’ve worked on myself, my relationships, my health, my love. Oh my love. The love I’ve found and held is the comfiest of all. Alhumdulilah.

eatingbreadandhoney

Street in Røros by Harald Sohlberg 1902

iamahmad

kafk-a

Katherine Mansfield, from The Collected Letters of Katherine Mansfield: Volume 5

pocula-blog

theidealistphilosophy

I don't know why we are here, but I'm pretty sure that it is not in order to enjoy ourselves.

Ludwig Wittgenstein.

passengerpigeons

Americans can't deal with death unless they own it. If they own it, they will celebrate it, like in the air force base museum of the atom bomb, where whole families of camera-toting tourists gather after the required i.d. security checks. In the gray-carpeted rooms, they walk the mazes of portable screens and platforms and enlarged photographs of death and incineration as seen from a discreet distance. The distance is far enough so you can't see the bodies, only the architecture.

David Wojnarowicz. "In the Shadow of the American Dream: Soon All This Weill Be Picturesque Ruins" from Close to the Knives: A Memoir of Disintegration.

amandaearl

“I asked Tuli Kupferberg once, “Did you really jump off of The Manhattan Bridge?” “Yeah,” he said, “I really did.” “How come?” I said. “I thought that I had lost the ability to love,” Tuli said. “So, I figured I might as well be dead. So, I went one night to the top of The Manhattan Bridge, & after a few minutes, I jumped off.” “That’s amazing,” I said. “Yeah,” Tuli said, “but nothing happened. I landed in the water, & I wasn’t dead. So I swam ashore, & went home, & took a bath, & went to bed. Nobody even noticed.‘”

—

“Memorial Day 1971” written by Ted Berrigan and Anne Waldman

https://media.sas.upenn.edu/pennsound/authors/Berrigan/Berrigan-Ted-and-Anne-Waldman_Memorial-Day_NYC_5-5-71.mp3

“And when I turned to face grief, I saw that it was just love in a heavy coat.”

-Shannon Barry