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bliss lane
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EXPECTATIONS
Mike Driver
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PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
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Origami Around
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Misplaced Lens Cap
Monterey Bay Aquarium
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Sweet Seals For You, Always
Noah Kahan
@theartofmadeline
The Stonewall Inn
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@coldwingedglass
I donât think people understand how much I love fog and rain. Those chilly autumn days where the clouds are thick and heavy bellied a deep dark grey. Weeks without the sun forcing us indoors. Where we sit along side fireplaces and read all day sipping warm tea and hot lattes.
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Mahtem Shiferraw, Your Body is War;Â âYour Body is War (IV)â
[Text ID: a body strained, a body wronged, a body disappearing, a body wrought.]
mary oliver, the pond
âpress these words against your silence.
Ilya Kaminsky, excerpt of âMusica Humanaâ, in Dancing in Odessa (via antigonick)
Weâre each of us alone, to be sure. What can you do but hold your hand out in the dark?
Ursula K. Le Guin, from âNine Livesâ
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This night is now half-gone; youth goes; I am in bed alone
Sappho, trans. by Mary Barnard in Fragments
The night undressed us (I counted its pulse)â
Ilya Kaminsky, excerpt of âDancing in Odessa [2]â, in Dancing in Odessa (via antigonick)
aw, i love that you said your reading focuses on love a lot. now i feel like iâm gonna chase up every book youâve read and liked just so i can say the same (but not in a creepy way, i promise, i just love ... love)
Wait, wait, in that case can I recommend you track down Roland Barthesâ A Loverâs Discourse of course, but also Anne Carsonâs Eros the Bittersweet and The Anthropology of Water, and Martha Nussbaumâs Loveâs Knowledge and Platoâs Symposium and G. W. Hegelâs A Fragment on Love, and Angela Carterâs The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories and Jeannette Wintersonâs The Passion, and Mary Oliverâs Felicity, Julia Kristevaâs Teresa my Love and Marriage as a Fine Art, The Song of Songs (maybe the one trans. by Ariel et Chana Bloch? thereâs a commentary) and Beatrice of Nazarethâs Seven Ways of Holy Love, and R. Howard Blochâs Medieval Misogyny and the Invention of Western Romantic Love, and Shakespeareâs Romeo and Juliet, A. S. Byattâs Possession, Elizabeth Barrett Browningâs Sonnets from the Portuguese and Kenneth Rexrothâs Sacramental Acts, Jane Austenâs Pride and Prejudice and Maggie Nelsonâs The Argonauts and Andalâs Autobiography of A Goddess (trans. by Priya Sarukkai Chabria and Ravi Shankar) and Iâll stop now but you should have enough here to scramble your brain and rot your teeth.
Why do I simply refuse to allow myself this relapse into creatureliness?
Christa Wolf, Cassandra: A Novel and Four Essays (tr. Jan van Heurck)
I can feel summer sinking into the earth, (âŚ)
Anne Carson, from Thirst: Introduction To Kinds Of Water in âPlainwater: Essays And Poetryâ (via adrasteiax)
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âI donât seem to want / anything others want. I donât even know if / I want something. To be perfectly quiet, still alive / with no one pressing me.â
â Alice Notley, from Certain Magical Acts; âI Went Down Thereâ
He was frightened of everything, it sometimes seemed, and he hated that about himself. Fear and hatred, fear and hatred: often, it seemed that those were the only two qualities he possessed. Fear of everyone else; hatred of himself.
â Hanya Yanagihara, A Little Life
I feel unspeakably lonely. And I feel - drained. It is a blank state of mind and soul I cannot describe to you as I think it would not make any difference. Also it is a very private feeling I have - that of melting into a perpetual nervous breakdown. I am often questioning myself what I further want to do, who I further wish to be; which parts of me, exactly, are still functioning properly.
A Self-Portrait in Letters, Anne Sexton (via vilicity)
His eyes were bars, and behind them was a fierce, unfed animal. When people looked at him they had the feeling of being shut out. He did not shut them out. He shut himself in.
Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping (via luthienne)
The momentary kind / Of love two strangers share, / Pushing out those long sighs / And then rushing to fill the lungs / Again with weightless clear air.
Tracy K. Smith, Wade in the Water; âDriving to Ottawaâ (via luthienne)
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But, when she slept or when she was alone, when the children were quiet, her mind spread round him like the sea. He was always present.
Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping (via luthienne)
There is black emptiness, out of which i chant. I begin creation, but Iâm not a god.
Alice Notley, Certain Magical Acts (via sagmoonn)
