A Lebanese woman using an abandoned Israeli tank as a washing line. South Lebanon, 2000.
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@echthistos
A Lebanese woman using an abandoned Israeli tank as a washing line. South Lebanon, 2000.

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Sayat Nova, from Anthology of Armenian Poetry, ed. & tr. by Diana Der Hovanessian and Marzbed Margossian; "I need never sigh"
'Sphynxe' by Joseph Urban, 1903.
“je ne voudrais être que le cèdre devant ta maison qu’une branche du cèdre qu’une ombre de la feuille que la fraîcher de l’ombre qui caresse ta tempe pendant une seconde.” Ivan Goll, Chansons Malaises, 1934.
Can we bring back Palestine Academy as a resource, I fear a lot of people are forgetting to go back to the basics and simply learn about what is happening in Gaza and what HAS BEEN happening for the past 76 years

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“[You] who are strange to me no longer. We have grown, I know, In the same dark gardens.”
— Yves Bonnefoy, from The Dialogue of Anguish and Desire: IV (tr. by Anthony Rudolf); Selected Poems, 1968
Woman in love She is standing on my eyes and her hair is in my hair; she has the figure of my hands and the colour of my sight. She is swallowed in my shade like a stone against the sky. She will never close her eyes and will never let me sleep; and her dreams in day’s full light make the suns evaporate, make me laugh and cry and laugh, speak when I have nought to say. Paul Eluard trans. by Gilbert Bowen
(color pencils, 2020)
(watercolors, 2021)
(watercolors, 2020)

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Eros is an issue of boundaries. He exists because certain boundaries do. In the interval between reach and grasp, between glance and counterglance, between ‘I love you’ and ‘I love you too’, the absent presence of desire comes alive. But the boundaries of time and glance and I love you are only aftershocks of the main, inevitable boundary that creates Eros: the boundary of flesh and self between you and me. And it is only, suddenly, at the moment when I would dissolve that boundary, I realize I never can. Anne Carson, Eros the bittersweet: An Essay.
Bacteria mundi Όταν έμαθα ότι για την αδυναμία μου να αγαπήσω κάποιον, ακόμα και για σύντομα χρονικά διαστήματα, δεν έφταιγα εγώ αλλά τα βακτήρια και τα παράσιτα που κατοικούν στα σπλάχνα μας, προκαλώντας δυσαρέκεια και συναισθηματική αναστάτωση, αναστέναξα με ανακούφιση. Η παραγωγή αερίων, κατά τα λεγόμενα του γιατρού, είναι εκείνη που επισκιάζει το αίσθημα της αγάπης, της εγκαρδιότητας, ακόμα και της ανθρωπιάς. Επίσης μου διευκρίνισε: υπάρχει συγκεκριμένη ομάδα από πολύ ελεγκτικά και απαιτητικά βακτήρια που σε χρησιμοπιούν μονάχα για να ικανοποιήσουν τις ανάγκες τους, είσαι ο κόσμος τους. Θα μπορούσε να είναι και χειρότερα, εξήγησε: ευτυχώς δεν προσβλήθηκες από κάποιο ακατανόμαστο παράσιτο που φωλιάζει στον εγκέφαλο και πολλαπλασιάζεται στα περιττώματα της γάτας, καθιστώντας σε επιφυλακτικό και αντικοινωνικό. Υπάρχει η πεποίθηση ότι αυτές τα αποβάλλουν, στην πραγματικότητα όμως τα σκορπίζουν επίτηδες για να υποδουλώσουν τα αφεντικά τους και να τους έχουν πάντα υποχείρια. Γι’ αυτά δεν υπάρχει θεραπεία, σχολίασε, καθώς μου έδινε μια συνταγή για να με καθαρίσει από τα τόσο προσκολλημένα σε εμένα όντα. Τη φυλάω ακόμα, δεν έχω αποφασίσει μέχρι στιγμής πώς θέλω να καταστραφώ, από τα βακτήρια ή από κάποιον που με αγκαλιάζει τις νύχτες. Ίσως να είναι το ίδιο, στο κάτω κάτω είμαστε όλοι κόσμοι που επιζητούν να καταρρεύσουν. Μικρο-καταρρεύσεις, Cecilia Eudave
“Idle”, she writes, “to imagine falling in love as a correspondence of minds, of thoughts; it is a simultaneous firing of two spirits engaged in the autonomous act of growing up. And the sensation is of something having noiselessly exploded inside each of them. Around this event, dazed and preoccupied, the lover moves examining his or her own experience;” Justine, The Alexandria Quartet, Lawrence Durrell
If I said now: “It must not happen to us”, she must have replied: “But let us suppose. What if it did?”. Then – and this I remember clearly – the mania for self-justification seized her (we spoke French: language creates national character) and between those breathless half-seconds when I felt her strong mouth on my own and those worldly brown arms closing upon mine: “I would not mistake it for gluttony or self-indulgence. We are too worldly for that: simply we have something to learn from each other. What is it?”.
Justine, The Alexandria Quartet, Lawrence Durrell

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Wassernixen by Josef Wawra (1920)
― Antonio Porchia, Voices (translated by W.S. Merwin)