The Care Of The Reaper Man

HUMANS NEED FANTASY TO BE HUMAN a writing and poetry sideblog of @lottiesoka

[havingapoemwithyou]

An Optimism By Cameron Awkward-Rich

[eggsdoodz]

trying my best to anyways !!

[firstfullmoon]

this adrienne rich excerpt, always always

[afadthatlastsforever]

“In the final breath of summer, when the leaves begun to white-knuckle their grips and, one after another, slip down into the dirt, you were laying on your back in the front garden. It was your birthday, you had just turned seventeen. Your skin was as transparent as pond water and it draped over your bones like silk over picket fence as you watched the sun clouds swim nimbly by. I remember this was the day the doctor told me you would not blow out the candles on another birthday cake. I recall afterwards I went straight home and baked you a birthday cake, and did so each day since, just to prove to you that doctors don’t know everything. You had blown out exactly 6188 candles over 364 birthday cakes the morning your lungs forgot how to breathe. I remember asking you what you had been spending all these wishes on this past year– I never did get the answer, and you never did make that last wish but I like to think you’re still up there, somewhere, still wishing for another day here with me.”

— Beau Taplin – Hunting Season

[afadthatlastsforever]

“In the gentle epilogue of summer, you and I laid together on the uncut grass of a field by a demolished lot where a house once was. Somewhere, where the wrist bones of maple leaves had begun to weaken, and the grand pianos played out to the applause of bee-wings. Somewhere, where the curves of our feet found each other often and my fingers orbited locks of raven-feather hair like the moon so faithful it spins itself to dust simply to be in the presence of the earth. I told you that it was not important how long this moment lasted, only that it came to pass at all. You wept. A bad feeling crept. Then– as best as I remember this is how it felt: 1. Like I was a star exiled from its own constellation. 2. Like there was a flash flood on the insides of my skin, tearing the suburb of my body to pieces. This is how it felt to learn, that this would be the very last summer you spent with me. See, sickness rarely afflicts those done living. It seems God is an apple-picker who only picks the ripened. And so with fury on my tongue I waved my fists like great flags of war at the heavens above and banished the faith out of my bones. These were the growing pains of the 5 stages of grief. How you offered to carry me when each step forward felt like fiery coals, and how I would walk no more because I could not get my head around the thinking that your wildfire soul could ever be extinguished. This is how it felt to have my heart removed and a harmonica emplaced, tuned to the key of a goodbye-song that goes on for an age. And I had begun to miss you even before your lungs shutdown like a carousal at a carnival, and the evening they did, a dead space was left in me many times greater than all of the black-spots on the outskirts of the galaxy. If I am to be truthful I haven’t been doing all too well lately, and I still sit out on that same field almost daily, beginning and ending each day alone and unsure, because when God took you away, he salted the earth of my heart– now nothing grows here, most especially love.”

— “A Story of Great Falls and Eternal-Summer.” – Beau Taplin (Hunting Season)

[stingrayextraordinaire]

Lord Huron Moodboards // It All Comes Back

I'm living infinite lives. Are they mine? I can't be sure, but I've seen this before.

[lucidloving]

Joan Didion, We Tell Ourselves Stories in Order to Live // Carlos Fuentes // Tim O'Brien // Tim O'Brien, The Things They Carried // Imtiaz Dharker, "Tissue" // Patrick Rothfuss, The Name of the Wind // Doctor Who (2010) // Brandon Sanderson, Yumi and the Nightmare Painter // Sing Shong, Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint // @jomeimei421

[lazyydaisyyy]

Claire Donato, from Kind Mirrors and Ugly Ghosts

[lazyydaisyyy]

Anne de Marcken, It Lasts Forever and Then It’s Over

[lazyydaisyyy]

Danielle Vogel, A Library of Light

[lazyydaisyyy]

Deborah Levy, "A to Z of the Death Drive" from The Position of Spoons

[lazyydaisyyy]

The hand that cuts you free from the cloth is not necessarily the hand that sews you back in. I too have scissors aimed at the sky; I too will slice open the belly of a great heaving.

Jenny Boully, ‘Epilogue’ from The Book of Beginnings and Endings

[lazyydaisyyy]

Gina Nutt, Night Rooms

[lazyydaisyyy]

Rufi Thorpe, The Creative Indepenendent

[lazyydaisyyy]

Heather McCalden, The Observable Universe

[lazyydaisyyy]

Anne de Marcken, It Lasts Forever and Then It’s Over

[apoemaday]

There Are Mornings

by Lisel Mueller

Even now, when the plot calls for me to turn to stone, the sun intervenes. Some mornings in summer I step outside and the sky opens and pours itself into me as if I were a saint about to die. But the plot calls for me to live, be ordinary, say nothing to anyone. Inside the house the mirrors burn when I pass.