Feb 3
From a Notebook That Burned 11. There’s no word for the grief of almost. But I carry it like a second spine.
seen from Türkiye
seen from China
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Taiwan
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Netherlands
seen from United States
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seen from China
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seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Maldives
From a Notebook That Burned 11. There’s no word for the grief of almost. But I carry it like a second spine.
From a Notebook That Burned 16. Silence is not emptiness. It’s just me at full volume without translation.
From a notebook that burned 12. I’ve learned to stop looking for closure— some doors are meant to stay burned shut.
“I too love everything that flows: rivers, sewers, lava, semen, blood, bile, words, sentences. I love the amniotic fluid when it spills out of the bag. I love the kidney with it’s painful gall-stones, it’s gravel and what-not; I love the urine that pours out scalding and the clap that runs endlessly; I love the words of hysterics and the sentences that flow on like dysentery and mirror all the sick images of the soul...”