snitnation

see what’s happening in snit nation and or

[nobrashfestivity]

Chris Marker, Letter from Siberia, 1957

[nobrashfestivity]

Happy Birthday, Chris Marker!

I laughed when I made these screencaps, ACAB

[snitnation]

At gate C22 in the Portland airport

the couple stood there, arms wrapped around each other like he’d just staggered off the boat at Ellis Island, like she’d been released at last from ICU, snapped out of a coma, survived bone cancer, made it down from Annapurna in only the clothes she was wearing. --Ellen Bass

[relatablepoetryandquotes]

“I’d cut my soul into a million different pieces just to form a constellation to light your way home. I’d write love poems to the parts of yourself you can’t stand. I’d stand in the shadows of your heart and tell you I’m not afraid of your dark.” - Andrea Gibson, Slip Your Mind

[snitnation]

https://ohandreagibson.tumblr.com/slipypourmind

[drearydaffodil]

Today a poet and a puppy

Passed from this world to the next

I can only hope that their paths crossed

We can see the sun from space

Tiny insects from the clouds

Love deepens from its loss

At last I've learned

Every goodbye

Is a grave

I must start leaving

Flowers at the caskets

While they're empty

Seeds of light

My bitten lips

Kiss another bruise

[dailydavide]

E tu svanisci

Dondola il treno Tra una scossa e la successiva Dei binari che curvano in periferia Sprazzi di sole arancione Sopra la linea degli edifici Sembri triste Nel riflesso del vetro Le mani serrate sulle corregge Dello zaino floscio Le labbra strette Ho voglia di colmare Lo spazio tra me e te Ma il ferro e l'acciaio frena forte Le porte si aprono e tu svanisci Lasciando dietro di te Solo l'ombra tremolante Che non ho saputo afferrare

[apoemaday]

High Windows

by Philip Larkin

When I see a couple of kids And guess he’s fucking her and she’s Taking pills or wearing a diaphragm, I know this is paradise

Everyone old has dreamed of all their lives — Bonds and gestures pushed to one side Like an outdated combine harvester, And everyone young going down the long slide

To happiness, endlessly. I wonder if Anyone looked at me, forty years back, And thought, That’ll be the life; No God anymore, or sweating in the dark

About hell and that, or having to hide What you think of the priest. He And his lot will all go down the long slide Like free bloody birds. And immediately

Rather than words comes the thought of high windows: The sun-comprehending glass, And beyond it, the deep blue air, that shows Nothing, and is nowhere, and is endless.

[artehago]

poem for johnie war

an artehago anti poem

the poem i read was

good though

i think i misread the room

habit from

mytumblr

days

that i just

dont trust all my

current poems

sometimes

having just birthed them

loving unsure

before ever reading

now with poems on

instagram and

with reading

i've overcome some

of this

but i forgot

the poem is the poem

and i can live with it

free

but i forgot

and picked a trending

poem

when i got to the

mic to read

the format was off

poem was off

here was an older

poem from

newly landed on

shore, ragged

conquistador

that i picked up to

present

tripping on the dash

and artehago

subtitle

believing in this

i tripped

were i was

reading a

conquistador

poem

to a room filled

with chicano poets

[antinoo5]

“ You never think the last time is going to be the last time.You think there will be more. You think you have forever but you don’t.” …Jacqueline Kennedy

[antinoo5]

60 years ago today.

[yesterdaysprint]

The San Francisco Examiner, California, November 16, 1933

[nealmcclure]

Some b&w street shot from Annecy, France.

[talesofpassingtime]

And so she pined, and so she died forlorn, Imploring for her Basil to the last. No heart was there in Florence but did mourn In pity of her love, so overcast.   And a sad ditty of this story born mouth to mouth through all the country pass’d: Still is the burthen sung—"O cruelty, To steal my Basil-pot away from me!"

— John Keats, Isabella   

[nikyatu]

“Every story I create, creates me. I write to create myself.” ―Octavia E. Butler

[eddy25960-deactivated20250412]

[continuo-docs]

J.-P. Caron – Breviário, pictures from the booklet+CD released by Estranhas Ocupações, Recife, Brazil, December 2015 [Bandcamp]

Music-wise, Breviário is a fine mix of metropolitan recordings, concrete sounds, conservatory rehearsal rooms and manipulated sounds. Hints of musique concrète and noise. Beautiful piano abuse on track #10. Prolonged cymbal abuse on closing track #11. The booklet includes drawings and graphic scores.

Brazilian composer and improviser Jean-Pierre Caron, from São Paulo, Brazil, was born in Rio de Janeiro in 1982. He’s currently preparing a degree in Philosophy of Language at Paris 8 university in France. As a musician, Caron is interested in both contemporary and noise music. He played detuned piano in an improvisation duo on Oco in 2013 [Bandcamp] and explored solo synthesizer drone music on 8³ in 2014 [Bandcamp].

Thanks Joseph for this one.

[garadinervi]

Mark Bradford: ‘We The People’, Curated by Virginia Shore & Welmoed Laanstra, United States Embassy, London, January-February 2018 [© Mark Bradford. Hauser & Wirth, New York, NY. Photo: © Joshua White]

[archivings]

[haverst]

SAY THEIR NAMES

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