I knew will becomes an alcoholic in the books but literally 50 pages in and there’s so many red flags already and he isn’t even in all the chapters :(
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I knew will becomes an alcoholic in the books but literally 50 pages in and there’s so many red flags already and he isn’t even in all the chapters :(
little demon bartender yknow
scatter seeds
I need a mouth as wide as the sky to say the nature of a True Person, language as large as longing.
The fragile vial inside me often breaks. No wonder I go mad and disappear for three days every month with the moon.
For anyone in love with you, it’s always these invisible days.
I’ve lost the thread of the story I was telling. My elephant roams his dreams of Hindustan again. Narrative, poetics, destroyed, my body, a dissolving, a return.
Friend, I’ve shrunk to a hair trying to say your story. Would you tell mine? I’ve made up so many love stories. Now I feel fictional. Tell me! The truth is, you are speaking, not me. I am Sinai, and you are Moses walking there. This poetry is an echo of what you say. A piece of land can’t speak, or know anything! Or of it can, only within limits.
The body is a device to calculate the astronomy of the spirit. Look through that astrolabe and become oceanic.
Why this distracted talk? It’s not my fault I rave. You did this. Do you approve of my love-madness?
Say yes. What language will you say it in, Arabic or Persian, or what? Once again, I must be tied up. Bring the curly ropes of your hair.
Now I remember the story. A True Man stares at his old shoes and sheepskin jacket. Every day he goes up to his attic to look at his work-shoes and worn-out coat. This is his wisdom, to remember the original clay and not get drunk with ego and arrogance.
To visit those shoes and jacket is praise.
The Absolute works with nothing. The workshop, the materials are what does not exist.
Try and be a sheet of paper with nothing on it. Be a spot of ground where nothing is growing, where something might be planted, a seed, possibly, from the Absolute.
--Rumi
For all those born beneath an angry star Lest we forget how fragile we are On and on the rain will fall Like tears from a star On and on the rain will say How fragile we are
- Gordon Sumner
... it's not a cry that you hear at night It's not somebody who's seen the light It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah
-Leonard Cohen