MIRAGE,

you are not the first     to walk the shadows broken. INSP SIDEBLOG FOR    @ALMAKFI.

[weltenwellen]

Ocean Vuong, On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous

[typewriter-worries]

[ Text ID: Ma. You once told me that memory is a choice. But if you were god, you’d know it’s a flood. ]

[letterful]

— CZESŁAW MIŁOSZ, translated from the Polish by Czesław Miłosz & Robert Hass.

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

“It happens surprisingly fast, the way your shadow leaves you. All day you’ve been linked by the light, but now that darkness gathers the world in a great black tide, your shadow joins the sea of all other shadows. If you stand here long enough, you, too, will forget your lines and merge with the tall grass and old trees, with the crows and the flooding river—all these pieces of the world that daylight has broken into objects of singular loneliness. It happens surprisingly fast, the drawing in of your shadow, and standing in the field, you become the field, and standing in the night, you are gathered by night, Invisible birds sing to the memory of light but then even those separate songs fade, tiny drops of ink in an infinite spilling.”

—  Rosemerry Wahtola Trommer, “Still Life at Dusk,” Poetry of Presence: An Anthology of Mindfulness Poems, eds. Phyllis Cole-Dai & Ruby R. Wilson (Grayson Books, 2017)

[cloudswamp]

leather, chris abani

[lifeinpoetry]

Separation is like                             unmaking love                             ungluing names to places                             undoing God.

— Mohammed El-Kurd, from “Bulldozers Undoing God,” Rifqa

[am1na]

A woman using her husband's shadow to protect and shelter herself from the sun in Masijd al- Harām.

[ruhlare-deactivated20220822]

[feral-ballad]

Linda Pastan, from Waiting for My Life: Poems; "What We Want"

[Text ID: "and in the morning / our arms ache. / We don't remember the dream, / but the dream remembers us."]

[weusedtobegiants]

and you must learn to see in darkness. Here you can praise the light, having so little of it:

Margaret Atwood, from Selected Poems II: 1976 - 1986

[tanyushenka]

The Valley of the Kings , Egypt, 1900-1920

[wishbzne-deactivated20210526]

ocean vuong, ‘my father writes from prison’

[ID: “some nights you are the lighthouse / some nights the sea” end ID]

[baredmirror]

“A labyrinth is a metaphor in both senses, carrying you on a brief journey that reminds you that you are always on a journey. You are always in a labyrinth, always a little lost and always feeling your way forward, there is always an unexpected turn ahead, in fact you were born into the labyrinth out of the darkness of the womb and you will only exit in that other darkness of tombs.

The two paths, literal and metaphorical, become one path on which you know at last that you are a traveler in darkness. But in the labyrinth, you arrive before that finale, and one of the great spiritual uses of a labyrinth is to compress the journey of pilgrimage into a local space, so that you may wander, may know that in order to get to your destination, you must turn away from it, become lost, spin about, and then only after the way has become overwhelming and absorbing, arrive, without having gone far.”

— Rebecca Solnit, “Journey to the Center: (on Elín Hansdóttir’s Labyrinth Path),” The Encyclopedia of Trouble and Spaciousness

[fromdarzaitoleeza]

Franz Kafka, the metamorphosis / Jane Austen

[flowerytale]

Penny Dreadful (2014-2016) created by John Logan

[derangedrhythms]

[cloudswamp]

more and more, margaret atwood

[funeral]

Jacques Derrida, Specters of Marx

[flowerytale]

Marguerite Duras, from The Lover