FOR ALL I KNOW

Holding to the ground as the ground keeps shifting, trying to keep sane as the rules keep changing, keeping up my head as my heart falls out of sight. Everything will be alright. {emma/she/bi} [poetry and aesthetic]

[memories]

apparently, I joined this tumblr place at 11/06/2014 4:54:48 AM.

[sixmonthsandgone]

Worlds of Ursula K. Le Guin (2018), dir. Arwen Curry

[forestgreenlesbian]

Human Connection

Maud Ralliere for Pap Magazine Apr 2021

[honeygleam]

the transformation of two lovers johnny corncob (1973) dir. marcell jankovics

[thequeensofbeauty]

Hunter Schafer by Daria Kobayashi Ritch for Porter Magazine, 2021.

[weltenwellen]

“I’m 24 years old and play this game with myself: buy myself something delicious for the weekend, blueberry muffins or flaky croissants, and forget it by Friday. Saturday morning comes and I am lucky to know me. I wasn’t born knowing how to love me, but I’m learning now; catching up for lost time between us. I keep the windows open. I play oldies throughout every corner of my apartment. I tell the dog how good it feels, at least for today, at least for right now, to be alive.”

— Schuyler Peck, Can’t Get Enough Of My Love 

[firstfullmoon]

Richie Hofmann, “French Novel”

[text ID: You were my second lover. You had dark eyes and hair, like a painting of a man. We lay on our stomachs reading books in your bed. I e-mailed my professor. I will be absent from French Novel due to sickness. You put on some piano music. Even though it was winter, we had to keep the window open day and night, the room was so hot, the air so dry it made our noses bleed. With boots we trekked through slush for a bottle of red wine we weren’t allowed to buy, our shirts unbuttoned under our winter coats. The French language distinguishes between the second of two and the second of many. Of course we’d have other lovers. Snow fell in our hair. You were my second lover. Another way of saying this: you were the other, not another.]

[gasstation]

[speciesbarocus]

Restoration of the Church of the Holy Saviour in Chora, by Thomas Whittemore and his team (1945 - 1950). [x]

[roauitine]

“you- you stay here with me, okay? You stay here with me. Raising your bright against the bitter dark Your bright longing, your brilliant fists of loss. If the only thing we have to gain in staying is each other, my god that’s plenty my god that’s enough my god that is so so much for the light to give; each of us at each other’s backs whispering over and over and over “Live.” “Live.” “Live.””

— Andrea Gibson, The Madness Verse (The Nutritionist)

[heresthatrainyday]

Visit Original Link

Don’t sing love songs, you’ll wake my mother. She’s sleeping here right by my side And in her right hand a silver dagger, She says that I can’t be your bride. “All men are false”, says my mother, “They’ll tell you wicked, lovin’ lies. The very next evening, they’ll court another, Leave you alone to pine and sigh.” My daddy is a handsome devil He’s got a chain five miles long, And on every link a heart does dangle Of another maid he’s loved and wronged. Go court another tender maiden, And hope that she will be your wife, For I’ve been warned, and I’ve decided To sleep alone all of my life.

[blossomfully]

Confessional // Sue Zhao

[sesiondemadrugada]

Denis Sarazhin.

[wingful]

from an excerpt of richard siken's Crush poem series

[historyisinthemaking]

But a gay man seeks his history in mythic fragments, random as blocks of stone in the ruins covered in Greek characters. We have the poems of Sappho because the one rolled linen copy stoppered a wine jug in a cave, and the blanks are the words the acid of the wine has eaten away. Fragments are all you get. You jigsaw the rest with your heart.

Paul Monette, Borrowed Time

[dadalux]

Welder Wings

[sweetestsecrets]

“The way the river water rushes by, never to return. The way the days go by, never to return. The way somebody comes back, but only in a dream.”

— Mary Oliver, from We Should Be Well Prepared; Red Bird, 2008 (via megairea)