bearer of the curse

Wildness Before Something Sublime Leila Chatti

The only hope for me

against death by Noor Hindi

time stands still

Into the Mist of Dream (by imagesofdream)

Created ten years ago two days ago happy birthday boy

friend, by jean valentine

Let’s not get romantic or dismal about death. Indeed it’s our most unique act along with birth. We must think of it as cooking breakfast, it’s that ordinary. Break two eggs into a bowl or break a bowl into two eggs. Slip into a coffin after the fluids have been drained, or better yet, slide into the fire. Of course it’s a little hard to accept your last kiss, your last drink, your last meal about which the condemned can be quite particular as if there could be a cheeseburger sent by God. A few lovers sweep by the inner eye, but it’s mostly a placid lake at dawn, mist rising, a solitary loon call, and staring into the still, opaque water. We’ll know as children again all that we are destined to know, that the water is cold and deep, and the sun penetrates only so far.

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)

august, tathev simonyan (a revised version of this poem)

Riccardo Guasco, We Are Alone, 2020