do i dare disturb the universe?

ella ⋅ 25 ⋅ she/they ⋅ audhd

[petaltexturedskies]

Velimir Khlebnikov, from Collected Works, Vol.III: Selected Poems, (tr. by Paul Schmidt)

[woundgallery]

Cy Twombly, Goethe in Italy III, 1978

[weltenwellen]

from Window Seat Maggie Smith

[weltenwellen]

Natalie Díaz, from “Isn't the Air Also a Body, Moving?”, Postcolonial Love Poem

[smsomah]

Cree; Saskatchewan, Canada, around 1930. Paul Coze

[verbix]

Land of Misplaced Dreams, Mehran Naghshbandi

“Our posturing, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the universe. That’s something that has always challenged me. Everywhere I go it will hit me at some point.”

[quoteastic]

We are all better versions of ourselves when we are loved.

[literaryvein]

L. V., exhumed writings

[genesisthreetwenty]

the sky, an ocean // may 2026

[haverst]

[h4nifah]

it’s never too late but at the same time I highly encourage people to get certain things out the way when they’re younger if you have the opportunity. your ability to bounce back is just better

[feral-ballad]

Izumi Shikibu, tr. by Jane Hirshfield and Mariko Oratani, from The Ink Dark Moon Love Poems by Ono No Komachi and Izumi Shikibu

[fragrantblossoms]

Leendert Blok. Blue iris with a yellow patch (Iris germanica), 'Iris H.C. van Vliet'. Inscription reads "Van Scorel", [Netherlands, circa 1927]

[rosechata]

chevergreen

[iphigeniacomplex]

I'll Teach You Cree by Gregory Scofield

with the tip of my spring tongue, ayîki      frog your mouth will be the web catching apihkêsis words,                           spider a crawling-out ceremony that cannot be translated.

hâw, pîkiskwê!                                             Now, speak!

I’ll teach you Cree, nêhiyawêwin                 the Cree language  that is the taste of pimiy êkwa saskarômina                         fat and saskatoon berries Your mouth will be the branches I am picking clean, a summer heat ceremony that cannot be translated.

hâw, pîkiskwê!                                              Now, speak!

I’ll teach you Cree in the winter, pipon                                      winter when the dogs curl against our backs. Your mouth will be pawâcakinâsis-pîsim     the frost exploding moon that cannot be translated. It will be a ceremony.

hâw, pîkiskwê!                                               Now, speak!

I’ll teach you Cree ê-kohk mistahi ê-sâkihitan.                           because I love you a lot It will be in the fall, this ceremony. You will have the mouth of a beaver, thick and luminescent.

I will make my camp there ê-kohk mistahi ê-sâkihitan.                           because I love you a lot This cannot be translated.

hâw, pîkiskwê!                                               Now, speak!

[neonelven]

[phantastische-illustrationen]

'The Vision of Saint Hubert', 1890 (Franz von Stuck)