so it goes

how badly my heart burns at the sight of you

[funeral]

Joan Didion in Colin Murray Parkes, Bereavement: Studies of Grief in Adult Life

[kajra-re]

Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, 1995.

[garrett-hannah]

SHERYL LEE RALPH accepts her award for Best Supporting Actress In A Comedy Series at the 28th Annual Critics Choice Awards (January 15, 2023)

[gaycommunist]

devote yourself to living

gregory orr selected books of the beloved // buffalo sunrise: buson grazing at daybreak in grand teton national park // brianna wiest // rainer maria rilke letters to a young poet // @baronegan // https://www.theawl.com/2013/11/ask-polly-help-im-the-loneliest-person-in-the-world/ // susan sontag // the quiraing, isle of skye @carpe-noctvm // @beetlegarden // amy wollard laura palmer graduates

[tendermimi]

— Mahmoud Darwish, Another Road in the Road

[typewriter-worries]

[ Text ID: My longing weeps for everything. My longing / shoots back at me, to kill or be killed. ]

[gaycommunist]

home is the first wound

[deadpoetneenzs]

🌿 life has not forgotten you

[araekniarchive]

and history repeats, and history repeats, and history repeats—

Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front

Haruki Murakami, Kafka on the Shore

Siegfried Sassoon, Counter-Attack and Other Poems; ‘Base Details’

Dalton Trumbo, Johnny Got His Gun

Arthur Miller, All My Sons

Herbert Hoover, to the 23rd Republican National Convention in June 1944

Markus Zusak, The Book Thief

Ernest Hemingway, For Whom the Bell Tolls

Wendell Berry, Hannah Coulter

Jamala, 1944

Erich Maria Remarque, All Quiet on the Western Front

Alexandra Christo, To Kill a Kingdom

Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

George S. McGovern

Wilfred Owen, Dulce Et Decorum Est

[aconissa]

THE WORLD IS GONE, I MUST CARRY YOU

Philip Pullman, The Amber Spyglass Richard Siken, ‘You are Jeff’ bell hooks, All About Love: New Visions Angelica Alzona, Creophagy Mary Oliver, ‘West Wind’ Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night Jeffrey McDaniel, ‘Archipelago of Kisses’ Graham Dean, Couple Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping Paul Celan, ‘Vast, glowing vault’

[aussie-twat]

A post about missing home and moving on.

@itsashlyperez post / Circe by Madeline Miller / spookyrich / comic by @shhhitsfine / post by @fairycosmos / The Office S9 Ep 23 / unknown, please tag author / my photo, IKEA review / unknown, please tag author /Slaughterhouse Five by Kurt Vonnegut

A post about missing home and moving on.

[luthienne]

Mahmoud Darwish, from Memory for Forgetfulness: August, Beirut, 1982 (tr. Ibrahim Muhawi)

For context: this is written within a work regarding the siege of Beirut in 1982. “Memory for Forgetfulness is an extended reflection on the invasion and its political and historical dimensions. It is also a journey into personal and collective memory. What is the meaning of exile? What is the role of the writer in time of war? What is the relationship of writing (memory) to history (forgetfulness)?” (x)

[letsbelonelytogetherr]

“All roads lead to you, even those I took to forget you.”

— Mahmoud Darwish

[mithrvn]

mahmoud darwish, in the presence of absence

natalie wee, practice makes perfect (for marie kakhniashvili)

richard siken, boot theory

[muhtesemz]

‏تمادينا بالتفكير ونسينا بأن الأقدار مكتوبة

We went too far in thinking and forgot that destinies are written.

- Mahmoud Darwish

[fairydrowning]

"You are killing me and you are keeping me from dying. This is love."

-Mahmoud Darwish

You are the knife I twist inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love."

-Franz Kafka

"I would split open my heart with a knife, place you within and seal my wound, that you might dwell there and never inhabit another…"

-Ibn Hazm

[funnytwittertweets]

[byronicreader]

Grief turns out to be a place none of us know until we reach it. We anticipate (we know) that someone close to us could die, but we do not look beyond the few days or weeks that immediately follow such an imagined death. We misconstrue the nature of even those few days or weeks. We might expect if the death is sudden to feel shock. We do not expect this shock to be obliterative, dislocating to both body and mind. We might expect that we will be prostrate, inconsolable, crazy with loss. We do not expect to be literally crazy, cool customers who believe that their husband is about to return and need his shoes. In the version of grief we imagine, the model will be “healing.” A certain forward movement will prevail. The worst days will be the earliest days. We imagine that the moment to most severely test us will be the funeral, after which this hypothetical healing will take place. When we anticipate the funeral we wonder about failing to “get through it,” rise to the occasion, exhibit the “strength” that invariably gets mentioned as the correct response to death. We anticipate needing to steel ourselves for the moment: will I be able to greet people, will I be able to leave the scene, will I be able even to get dressed that day? We have no way of knowing that this will not be the issue. We have no way of knowing that the funeral itself will be anodyne, a kind of narcotic regression in which we are wrapped in the care of others and the gravity and meaning of the occasion. Nor can we know ahead of the fact (and here lies the heart of the difference between grief as we imagine it and grief as it is) the unending absence that follows, the void, the very opposite of meaning, the relentless succession of moments during which we will confront the experience of meaninglessness itself.

-Joan Didion, The Year of Magical Thinking.