"Words and Corpses: Celan’s 'Tenebrae' between Gadamer and Scholem" Adam Lipszyc
AnasAbdin
$LAYYYTER

Janaina Medeiros

roma★

#extradirty
Xuebing Du
Peter Solarz
i don't do bad sauce passes
Jules of Nature
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
h
YOU ARE THE REASON

izzy's playlists!

let's talk about Bridgerton tea, my ask is open

Discoholic 🪩
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
we're not kids anymore.
Game of Thrones Daily

seen from United States
seen from Jordan

seen from Jordan
seen from Jordan
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from United States

seen from Australia
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
@noureev
"Words and Corpses: Celan’s 'Tenebrae' between Gadamer and Scholem" Adam Lipszyc

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Clarice Lispector, A Breath of Life
A diagram of the longest (translated) sentence in Proust.
Yoshihiro Tatsuki, Untitled 1, 1970s-early 1980s
“does the world know how still it is? people make noise. they are afraid of silence. of what lives, and god, of what dies in silence. there must be many dead things moving in silence. they come here to touch me. i swear i feel their fingers.”
— jean toomer, “kabnis,” cane

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Fiona Apple courtwatching [x]
Cat Power holding Silver Jews album American Water
Sylvia Plath | Lock of hair, at age 2 ½
brady corbet, 2005.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Hip Logic, Terrance Hayes
from Vol. 20, No. 1 (Winter 1997) IN HISTORY by Jamaica Kincaid
Returning to a text I read in school to remind myself of something
how’s that house that raised you?
"Absolutely no one comes to save us but us."
Ismatu Gwendolyn, "you've been traumatized into hating reading (and it makes you easier to oppress)", from Threadings, on Substack [ID'd]
updated link
For the first time in my life, I realized telling the truth was way different from finding the truth, and finding the truth had everything to do with revisiting and rearranging words. Revisiting and rearranging words didn’t only require vocabulary; it required will, and maybe courage. Revised word patterns were revised thought patterns. Revised thought patterns shaped memory. I knew, looking at all those words, that memories were there, I just had to rearrange, add, subtract, sit, and sift until I found a way to free the memory.
Kiese Laymon, Heavy: An American Memoir
Writing Prompt: Write about finding the truth. Revisit & rearrange the words. Find a way to free the memory.

Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Claudia Rankine, "Citizen, IV", Citizen: An American Lyric
“Only one thing remained reachable, close and secure amid all losses: language. Yes, language. In spite of everything, it remained secure against loss. But it had to go through its own lack of answers, through terrifying silence, through the thousand darknesses of murderous speech. It went through. It gave me no words for what was happening, but went through it. A poem, being an instance of language, hence, essentially dialogue, may be a letter in a bottle thrown out to sea with the — surely not always strong — hope that it may somehow wash up somewhere, perhaps on a shoreline of the heart. In this way, too, poems are en route; they are headed toward. Toward what? Toward something open, inhabitable, an approachable you, perhaps, an approachable reality.”
— Paul Celan, from a speech given on the occasion of being awarded the Literature Prize of the Free Hanseatic City of Bremen, sourced here