Lover of violets

the old religion

saturn, revised -> OR an exploration of precedent and devotion xx "saturn devouring one of his sons" by franciso de goya, "ivan the terrible and his son ivan" by ilya repin, "post-traumatic stress disorder with han" by eugenia leigh, "regarding the pain of others" by susan sontag, "austerlitz" (and others) by w.g sebald, "the origins of totalitarianism" (and others) by hannah arendt, "1984" by george orwell, "ecce homo/the antichrist" by friedrich nietzsche, quotes of john emerich edward dalberg-acton, "after great pain, a formal feeling comes – (372)" by emily dickinson, "easter, 1916" by w.b yeats, "burnt norton" (the four quartets) by t.s eliot, "the second coming" by w.b yeats, "dulce et decorum est" by wilfred owen, "prison notebooks" by antonio gramsci, "aubade" by philip larkin, "the river" by bruce springsteen, "the myth of sisyphus and other essays" by albert camus, "musée des beaux arts" by w.h auden, "success is counted sweetest (112)" by emily dickinson, "up-hill" by christina rossetti, "the collar" by george herbert, quotes of primo levi

merry christmas from me to y'all! here's your gift <3

articles can be found here! [ x , x ]

WHY is the fucking AIR out here TOUCHING ME

it’s been 9 years since i wrote this. i was experiencing 24/7 anxiety so badly that i needed serious medication. these days in the back of my car is an “emergency party box.” when people admit they no longer really celebrate their birthday; i tell them to put the sash on and queue up kesha, we’re going bowling or something. these days i can’t spin around without finding something i am enamored with. these days i list 3 things i’m grateful for before i fall asleep. you’re probably one of them, just by virtue of you existing.

at the time i wrote this, i was suffering through a severe panic attack literally every night. i tortured my brother with constant 2 AM calls just to hear someone else breathing, because i couldn’t be alone in the silence.

i rarely wish i was still 23 even though ironically i had more hope back then. what i can tell you is this: i love the same way, but bigger now. i’ve worn the velvet cape to several business meetings. i spent thursday in a crop top without caring what my stomach looked like.

i told her i like her; i often dress as a witch. i still got glass in my foot this morning. i’ve kissed maybe a thousand people since then and met a million more than that; passing like the shadow of a hammerhead in trains and planes and buses.

i saw you, beloved, there, maybe, on platform in south station. you didn’t speak, but you said: i struggle to give the nothing meaning. the nothing fills up everything. it is just loud and yellowed panicked silence. i can’t stop shaking.

on the roof, birds curl together against the chilled spring wind. the sky outside of the craft store was an iridescent pink. the nothing already had meaning; you are giving it meaning by witnessing.