"I think anything like that- which is contemplative, silent, shows a person alone- people always feel sad. Is it because we've lost the art of being alone?" - Andrew Wyeth
Noah Kahan
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
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Love Begins
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almost home

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if i look back, i am lost
One Nice Bug Per Day
NASA

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@poopyloopy14
"I think anything like that- which is contemplative, silent, shows a person alone- people always feel sad. Is it because we've lost the art of being alone?" - Andrew Wyeth
If you don’t stick to what you care about, you’ll be stuck with something you don’t.
Either way life demands commitment.
The act of praying is a complex desperation, submitting to the fact we as humans are at a loss of control when it comes to the grand scheme of things . It is not specific to a god, a god is just symbolic of a notion we can’t grasp. That there is something untouchable which governs our existence. We are not alone masters of our fate yet we beg, with our distinct human hands that this ‘greater than us’, shares some form of our distinct human consciousness so that it may hear our plea and have empathy or pity like we feel. Where we inhibit our egotistical humanity, perhaps submit to our own morality. And we fall back on our ancient instinct to find relation with the earth around us, signs we aren’t such a lone species and there’s pieces of our existence dotted around, which mean we are part of the cycle of all that is. But we aren’t as extraterrestrial as the forces which we cannot name, we wish to relate to something we cannot understand and it is not human. But we have a need that persists. The world that created us must love us, it must somehow.
"Nature's logic holds a higher place in my estimation than anything else." - MFC ( Sabahattin Ali)
"When I saw how she was incapable of voicing her true feelings, and how fear and envy contrived to suppress everything about her that was deep and strong, and beautiful - I saw myself." - MFC ( Sabahattin Ali)
"If a person truly has the ability to love, then he can never monopolise his beloved [...] The more he spreads his love, the more he adores his one and only true love. When love spreads, it does not diminish. " - Madonna in a Fur Coat (Sabahattin Ali)
Nombim
Yesterday we were mini menaces
filling every atom of air with creations,
that we two could see,
was the only thing separating us from insanity
and we held each others hooves, claws, paws
before we were informed we’re human and
briefed on the hulla-baloo it entails
like how to intertwine throat-noises
around common consonants and vowels
and how to grip a pen with stubby-fingered hands
where before our limbs branched out
we tickled each other to the ground
and blew our visions into the lip of the wind
then whispered to each other of our long-winded worlds-
those early intimacies we scratch away with a penny, is it ok
to say I remember? those e-very-thing walks, or should I deny
my eyes spent most of their open-time gaping at
your plum-dark eyes- from their very first gaze
there you were, through all that light and
when all that darkness comes to tide
in your squinting eye
you’ll find me there.
Today you are boundless
Bounding through skyscrapers aligned with the sky
Working the cogs and levers, stinking of the grime of pay-check life
And I am tracing in your tracks
Trekking closer towards you by the year
And when I see you every- now, every -then
it’s different. How
the world has touched us.
Words drip flat off of our water-proof skin
but feelings from another how they rub off on us,
how they sink , in , stink.
Like light-rays, through our organs and into our hearts chamber
Where I now keep you in and
we want more than we can say, us ‘intellectuals’
become illiterate chimps
when we float within each others space- laid flat
next to one another in the static of silence,
our minds seem to saturate it out of habit- still : with
two frayed falcons soaring through a current in the sky- maybe
two doe deers prancing in thick layers of snow- perhaps
two merry minnows nesting in a warm reef-
Because I understand - we always knew
and we can’t be taught
love performed in the rawest way.
I saw, as if I had not before. A most terrific light reflecting off ripples on the river, sifting through the air to become a rhythmic pattern on a log. As if a hand were pushing down darkness with every other fingertip. I used to think by knowing more I believed less. But I sit here, knowing which frequencies refract. Yet they are invisible to me, they string together like chords in a piano. Their only purpose to create this visual melody, occurring in front of me. People used to think it was magic, spirits, a sign from above... and how oddly right they were. The same light which struck them then strikes us now, it's the sheer magic of the sky, the earth, space. Which also orchestrates our breath and every immovable chance around us. So I think the more it is you know the more it is you believe. To know our existence is a series of miraculous chances, is to believe in a magic. Although we may not have always known this, we have felt this luck, since the very beginning of time.
“The pain was distant now because it had scareful been bearable then. It could not really be recollected because it had become a part of him.”
-James Baldwin (AC)
“When she had been safe and respectable, so had the world been safe and respectable; now the entire world was bitter with deceit and danger and loss; and which was the greater illusion?”
-James Baldwin (AC)
“And he thought, The women have more courage than we do. Then he thought, Maybe they don’t have any choice.”
-James Baldwin (AC)
“For the act of love is a confession. One lies about the body but the body does not lie about itself; ”
-James Baldwin (AC)
The Shadow by Edmund Blair Leighton (1909)
Based upon the Greek myth of Debutade's daughter known as the 'Maid of Corinth' who traced the outline of her lover's shadow on her bedchamber wall. In Leighton's version here the setting is different however, the medieval castle sets a dramatic scene and highlights the imminent threat of war as her lover departs for battle.
Her:
The hard castle stone juxtaposes this soft romantic gesture and the sun aids her. The love lies in the desire to immortalise a moment which may never see the sun again. By casting her lover's figure into stone she maintains the posture/ figure of the man she loves, a figure which may be lost between the sun's revolve. Never as perfect as it is in the present, forever changed from this day forth as he heads to battle. To make a portrait out of his shadow is to prove he was alive, touched by the sun and therefore loved by someone. His eternal shadow represents eternal light, symbolic of her eternal love. The battle ship can be seen sat on the sea behind her shoulder, placed as if it were weighing down on her. Symbolic for the burden that is war, which like the ship may take him away from her. Her fiery red hair is striking against the blue sea and wavy like a burning flame of desire, presumably for her lover to not leave. However it could also be a sign of danger in this painting. Yet her angelic white gown is pure, the draped cloth on her arms could almost morph into wings as they assume that shape. Showing her pure intentions and innocent love towards him as she leans.
Him:
He poses for her, solemnly looking into the distance, no doubt processing the weight of his duty. His eyes aren't being traced, he doesn't have to look beyond his lover but it is as if he is already gone. It is visible in his eyes this departure/ separation, is the beginning of battle. He places one hand on his home while the other holds his helmet, a helmet which will hide the features his lover so dearly traces. He prepares for how he must become deindividuated in war, transformed from a soft lover to a rough soldier. Yet he also honours her, in the details of his dress that will sit under his helmet. His torse, the circular headband he wears, not only mimics her circular headpiece but is the same shade as his lover's hair. As well as the most discrete of details, ( my favourite) the small ribbon tied in a bow like hers, at the side of his head. It sits like a delicate butterfly, amongst the practical and heavy chainmail. A grain of sentiment and a thread of which ties him to his humanity- where we have the ability to love and give love- in a primal world where he must kill or be killed. One can picture her tying it to his chainmail, pronouncing her love and expecting her ribbon back.
“All the power and dignity of the people seemed to have been sucked out of then by the cathedral. It was as though the cathedral demanded, and received, a perpetual, living sacrifice. It towered over the town, more like an affliction than a blessing.”
-James Baldwin (AC)
“His ears ached for the sound of Yves’ footfalls beside him: until he heard his rhythm, all other sounds were meaningless.”
-James Baldwin (AC)
“Strangers’ faces hold no secrets because the imagination does not invest them with any. But the face of a lover is an unknown precisely because it is invested with so much of oneself. It is a mystery, containing, like all mysteries, the possibility of torment.”
-James Baldwin (AC)