pathemata mathemata

The question nearly always remains:  is this part of the story to be written in graphite or indelible ink?

[mimeticrhetoric]

[vincekris]

Bastiaan Woudt

[mimeticrhetoric]

The new cavities in my heart search for things to burn. They drive me to burn things and I can stop only when everything is in ashes.

(Yōko Ogawa, The Memory Police)

[mimeticrhetoric]

24.

Most people carry that pain around inside them their whole lives, until they kill the pain by other means, or until it kills them. But you, my friends, you found another way: a way to use the pain. To burn it as fuel, for light and warmth. You have learned to break the world that has tried to break you.

(Lev Grossman)

[mimeticrhetoric]

[mimeticrhetoric]

…

photo: @blcksmth

[mimeticrhetoric]

“all living is storm chasing…”

-andrea gibson (8/13/75-7/14/25)

photo - mine. a random wednesday. 2017. someplace.

[heavensghost]

Mitski - Strawberry Blond

[mimeticrhetoric]

Humans can be museums too, filled with history they can no longer touch.

(Yiyun Li, "The Vagrants”)

[moradadabeleza]

Nádia Maria

[mimeticrhetoric]

How do you move on? You move on when your heart finally understands that there is no turning back.

(J.R.R. Tolkien)

[onceuponawildflower]

[whataboutbob2021-deactivated202]

“What we miss–what we lose and what we mourn–isn’t it this that makes us who, deep down, we truly are. To say nothing of what we wanted in life but never got to have.”

— Sigrid Nunez

[slobbered]

The Lovers by Rene Magritte

Love is a temporary madness. It erupts like an earthquake and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have become so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion. That is just being in love which any of us can convince ourselves we are. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident.

-- Saint Augustine

[mimeticrhetoric]

The role of the artist is exactly the same as the role of the lover. If I love you, I have to make you conscious of the things you don’t see.

(James Baldwin)

[mimeticrhetoric]

23.

A photograph is a secret about a secret. The more it tells you, the less you know.

(Diane Arbus)

[scarious]

[mimeticrhetoric]

What would happen if one woman told the truth about her life?

The world would split open.

(Muriel Rukeyser)

[mimeticrhetoric]

Timid men desire the shallows, for they would drown in such great depths as hers. But she is, and will always be the untamed sea.

(John Mark Green)

[slobbering]

When we hold each other, in the darkness, it doesn’t make the darkness go away. The bad things are still out there. The nightmares are still walking. When we hold each other, we feel not safe, but better. ‘It’s all right,’ we whisper. ‘I’m here. I love you.’ And we lie: ‘I’ll never leave you.’ For just a moment or two, the darkness doesn’t seem so bad.

— Neil Gaiman

[mimeticrhetoric]

And above all, watch with glittering eyes the whole world around you because the greatest secrets are always hidden in the most unlikely places. Those who don't believe in magic will never find it.

(Roald Dahl)

photo: mine - Armstrong Woods 7.9.14

[eroticasa]

[whataboutbob2021-deactivated202]

When we honestly ask ourselves which person in our lives means the most to us, we often find that it is those who, instead of giving advice, solutions, or cures, have chosen rather to share our pain and touch our wounds with a warm and tender hand.

— Henri Nouwen

[mimeticrhetoric]

🤍 …

[the-enchanted-little-star]

[mimeticrhetoric]

Once lit, she’ll burn like a book like a book that was never finished, like a locked-up library.

(Margaret Atwood, from The Door: Poems; “Saint Joan of Arc on a postcard”)