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RMH

Jules of Nature

Kaledo Art
Peter Solarz
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@theartofmadeline
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
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will byers stan first human second

roma★
d e v o n

tannertan36
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸

titsay

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@paiinton
small vases

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notes on learning a new tongue
the established vocabulary of love confuses me. It's too familiar. I know what it means to put your head on someone's shoulder, to hold their hand, to lie an inch apart on someone else's bed, your eyes half-open, the skin on your arms tingling. This is easy to understand and easy to explain. A literature paper on love: love is the green thread between two bodies. Or so they say. Or so I'm told.
having read too much and too widely I can no longer distinguish between the things I want and the things I am told I should want. Consider love as a doctor's recommendation. Love as the eye doctor you visit on a Sunday morning, bleary-eyed and miserable. The doctor asks you how you feel about bodies and you say I read in a book once that a body is the answer to the question of god. That worship is a form of want. That want is a form of caring.
what do I care about? I care about you. But the established vocabulary of love doesn't mean anything here. I don't think either of us knows how to use any of it. There's a word for the way you scrunch up your mouth when you're thinking and a word for the seaglass of your eyes but they aren't anything like the words I've been told I should use to talk about someone precious to me. You're precious to me, though. I want a word for this.
parents weekend is this weekend. Your parents are coming. My friend suggests offhandedly that I should hunt them down and greet them. What is the word for this? What language should I use to say hi?
this, my friend says bluntly and with all the kindness in the world, looks like friendship to me. I know what he means but his language is the language of lovers and stories and clean binaries, either you love me or not, so answer me this: do you love me? There isn't a word for this either in your language. Neither is there one in mine.
what is want without the language with which to write it down? What is the significance of the undescribed smile? If I sit here with you, under this silver awning, if we sit next to each other under a midnight streetlight, if we keep talking about the things that keep us aloft, if we stay adrift in the deep blue sea, will we one day arrive at a new sense of wordlessness? Maybe I should stop going to the eye doctor. Maybe it is enough for me to ask you what you are thinking about when you grasp your chin with your hand. Maybe the word I am looking for is your name. That's the only word in the world that matters.
10.22.21
“Margaret Atwood says, “if you get hungry enough (…) you start eating your own heart.” Mine ate me. What does that make of this hunger?”
— i’ll bite the hands that feed me, Grace Moloney
sixty: VERTIGO
another day in the land of eternal summer, another day spent visiting places i wrote about from the other side of the globe, has anyone told you how weird it is to come home? it's like putting on a pair of shoes you haven't worn in ages and finding that in spite of the five centimeters you've grown since you last wore them they still fit perfectly. and yet walking around in them feels weird, like you're either too tall or too short, you can't decide, like you're wearing someone else's shoes- they're yours, though, so what's the deal, huh? you are still made of more or less the same skin and fiber. you are still, for all intents and purposes, the person you were when you left. but in some ways that can never be redeemed, you aren't. suddenly there are a hundred different versions of you, one for each one that stays behind, five more for whoever takes the plunge to the next level; let's say we're deep-sea divers and this is the big expedition. go big or go home. we aren't going home. we're going to find the biggest catch in the world and it's going to make us famous, and all of our grandkids will talk about how we fished the sun out of the sea. where were we? oh yeah, my shoes. i fucking love those van gogh shoes.
lately i've been thinking i can code switch after all. good for me. it means i know the code to begin with. so i can get inside the secret clubroom in the natural sciences building. so i haven't forgotten everything.
07.22.21
forty things to do before you go (like whale harpooning and learning to ride a skateboard)
before you leave a place, you leave it several times over. you leave when you peel the sheets off the mattress. you leave when you take your mismatched socks and underwear out of the drawer and fold them into your suitcase. you leave when you take the posters off the wall, when you return the books you borrowed from the library, when you tape up the boxes and write your name on them so they won't forget who they are while you're gone. this is where you came from, you say to all the shit you've accumulated over the last five months. remember it.
since i threw all my bedding in the laundry this evening i wanted to fold it up while it was clean and still smelled like tide but the bare mattress was too gross to lie on for longer than fifteen minutes without feeling my skin crawl right off my bones, so i caved and pulled a sheet over it. that's the arrangement for the last two nights. single sheet mattress, bare comforter, two pillows. the extension cord lies in a twisted heap on the floor beside the bedframe and my headphones are on the empty desk. the clothes i'll be wearing onto the plane hang out of one of the half-opened drawers. there is a single packet of almond milk left. i don't know what to do with it and it's probably gone bad, so i guess i'll throw it away.
when i got here the first thing i did was tape up the photographs. i was only here for four weeks, but taking them down always feels like walking into someone's funeral. they're in a folder now in my backpack, which i'll be taking with me. the small suitcase isn't going back because it doesn't matter enough. i have two backpacks; one of them will stay behind.
they say it takes two hands to clap but it's important to consider the relationship between the hands. rarely are the two hands equal; one may be shorter, less flexible, or weaker. therefore, it follows that the other is longer, more flexible, and strong. when observing the dynamic between the two ends of a set distance one should always aim to identify the direction in which the ball is slipping down the slide, i.e. who's already up in the air, and who's about to be sent flying?
this time it's two flights back home. surprising everyone including myself, we were able to reduce the number by one. the flights are long, but they're not unbearable. nothing is, if you try hard enough.
my mother is disappointed that i've started sleeping at ungodly hours again, but it should be noted that singapore is on the other side of the globe and in two days' time i will be forced out of this twilit street whether i like it or not. call it preliminary jetlag conditioning if you will. i prefer the term hubris.
it's nearly three o'clock in the morning as i type this. today i had a stick shoved up my nose for the first time in five months and it was a gross kind of nostalgic that i hope not to relive and definitely will. on the way back a friend gave me a can of lemonade. 'i've been drinking a lot of this stuff recently,' they said, one hand on the steering wheel and the other braced on the finely-grated cusp of the evening. 'i don't know why.' 'well,' i replied. 'summer is hot.'
summer is hot. but i'm leaving it behind for another. two summers in the span of one, now that's a deal you can't pass up. when i get back i'm going to stand under the wet singaporean sun and yell at it until it acknowledges me as its child. you made me like this, after all. now own up to it. own up to what you did to these hands.
06.29.21

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the moon as a thing that can be consumed
you stumble into the moon on your way to your dorm, spilling leftover pad thai all over her. you apologize profusely. she laughs, clear and bright, while you scoop up cold noodles from the ground.
///
it is spring, and flowers are pushing themselves up from the soil. sunlight is a meal that is chewed and swallowed and licked from the lips of the living.
///
on your way to class, the moon stops you. you open your mouth to apologize again, but she gets her words out first.
"hey, um, you probably don't know me super well, but we have a class together,"
she stops. her next sentence comes out faster,
"-and you're really cute and i was wondering if maybe you wanted to get some coffee together later?"
she twists a strand of hair behind her ear and smiles a bit awkwardly. you do not think she remembers your pad thai.
///
you are walking your dog. the moon reflects off the wet path. you do not stumble. your dog pulls on his leash, and you follow him.
///
the moon is making omelets in your kitchen. you walk up behind her, rest your chin on her shoulder. she asks you to pass her some shredded cheese. you hum, and know she can feel it against her back. you are not this far in the story yet, you do not even know if you like omelets. i will not take this from you though.
///
the moon asks you out for coffee, and you tell her
"oh i'm sorry. i actually have a test tomorrow that i really should study for tonight, but do you want my number? we can work something out later this week maybe?"
you write out your number on her forearm with a pen you stole from the bank. or maybe it was a career fair? it has a little cat on it. you really are sorry.
///
it is cloudy. you don't take your dog outside today, the weather calls for rain. you consider how it could be a full moon or a whole moon and you would never know. this thought is marvelous to you somehow.
///
you end up going out for coffee with the moon on a thursday, and she orders a chai latte. you get an iced coffee. when she looks up at you, she has a little foam on her lip. you think about how it is impossible to truly know what you cannot see. you can see the foam on her lip, and do not know what to make of it regardless.
///
the moon is watching a girl drink iced coffee. she is watching the girl's lips on the straw. the moon is watching a great many things. the moon is still a girl though, and knows the other girl is also watching her.
///
it's a clear night tonight, but you can't really see the stars. light pollution and all that. the moon is there though, a crescent like a slice of watermelon. the moon's head is in your lap. you can't see the stars, but you can feel the moon's hair between your fingers.
///
when you are 7, you learn that the moon does not disappear during the day, you just cannot see it. you imagine the sun like an eye, closing at night. you imagine the moon like a hole poked through the sky. you imagine that the moon is a girl in the same way that you are a girl.
///
you are in the car, watching the moon. it does not matter how old you are this time, you are somehow always in the car watching the moon. it follows you, even though you know it is not following you. it is a hole poked in the sky, stationary.
the moon, a little later on, is driving the car. you watch the road, and the moon, and the sky, and wonder whether any of it was stationary at all.
///
you are not the moon, and you are not a girl in love with the moon. the girl as the moon, not the moon as the moon. You grew up in love with the stars, but you can't really see them. light pollution and all. you do not know how you can love something you can't see. it is still love.
///
the girl in love with the moon is holding the moon's hand. it is sticky with fruit juice and summertime. the sun sits like a mango in the sky. they do not wash their hands just yet.
///
somewhere, in this great vast universe, there are many more moons. they are not your moon though, and your brain cannot really comprehend an ever-expanding universe that is folding in on itself like a rose in bloom. the universe is really very big
///
the moon is laying on your floor. you are laying in your floor. your dog is laying on your couch. he is not supposed to be there, and yet there he is.
///
you are still not the moon, or the girl in love with the moon. you are graduating soon, and could end up being either of them. this thought is not so marvelous, you like being sure of things. you think of the stars, how they are still almost invisible. you are in love with them, but it is a love like written word. you think that maybe your idea of love is different than that of the moon's. you think too much-or maybe not enough? not in the right way, you settle on. the moon and the girl are in love, and you are not.
///
the girl looks at the moon, who is frying pancakes in the commons of your building. it is 2am, and the girl is not hungry for pancakes. she will eat them anyway, because there in something in her that needs to be filled.
///
the moon holds the girl's cheeks in her palms. the girl's eyes shine. the moon is not the moon right now, but feels like she is reflecting the light of the sun still. something sits heavy in her throat, it is not a word.
///
who am i to say what love is? are the moon and the girl in love? do they need to be? they are both illuminated in this moment, two girls seeking something out and finding each other. who am i to say that i love the stars when it is more a memory of them. i am seeking something out too.
///
a dog is watching two girls sleep, all gangly limbs and boneless exhaustion. they lay tangled against each other. when one shifts, the other also shifts. they are breathing together. when they wake up, they might make pancakes. or omelets. the dog does not mind either way.
///
the moon as a girl watches the moon as the moon. it is funny, she supposes, that she can be two things at once.
///
a blind girl is in love with the stars. her stars are different than my stars. her love is not different than my love. it must be love.
being brave in the face of new experiences
every day i wake up and drink my silly little coffee while God eats my heart like a pomegranate in front of me
Why isnt there a clothing brand that caters towards my need to dress like a fantasy novel wanderer. Give me scuffed leather boots and a knapsack and tatty overcoat with mice in the oversized pockets and billowy shirt with poofy sleeves and trailing laces

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T. S. Eliot — The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock
TAKE ME BACK TO FALL 2019!11!!! i miss when my dash was [this is a love story] [stephen king’s it] [he knew well enough] [hands] [ON PURPOSE, ON PURPOSE I AM GOING TO CARE ABOUT YOU] richard siken] [it’s rotten work not to me not if it’s you] [markwardo] [fiona apple’s hot knife] [jennifer’s body] [I can’t explain the state that i’m in, the state of my heart, he was my best friend] [the goldfinch] [gay yearning] [taylor swift’s lover] [mortifying ordeal of being known] [fleabag] [the algorithm on the wall at kirkland] [bill hader] [dead poets society] [fuck me pumps] [kate bush’s running up that hill] LIKE TAKE ME BACK!!!!111!
fuck it. i made a what thing from fall 2019 r u quiz
i think my saddest moment as an Australian was finding out that the rest of the world doesn’t say “never eat soggy weetbix” to figure out the order of the compass
Put in the tags where you’re from and how you memorized the order of the compass
reid, what is the definition of longing?
REID: It’s like, I’ll… I’ll make a hole in myself for you.
MARTIN: (soft) Oh.
— “Trevor,” by Ocean Vuong
Ocean Vuong holds a BA from Brooklyn College and will complete an MFA from NYU in 2016. His poems have appeared in Best New Poets, Harvard Review, Kenyon Review, The Nation, New Republic, The New Yorker, Poetry, and The American Poetry Review. He has published two chapbooks, No (2013) and Burnings (2010); his first full-length collection, Night Sky with Exit Wounds, will be published by Copper Canyon Press in 2016. Vuong is the recipient of a 2014 Ruth Lilly and Dorothy Sargent Rosenberg Poetry Fellowship from the Poetry Foundation. He is originally from Saigon and lives in New York City.

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speedpaint
some americans are [correctly] like,
“dont say americans are stupid for our leadership’s decisions because a lot of us, esp those of us who live in poverty + minorities whose voices arent represented in leadership, are not responsible and also targeted by these desicions and you will never feel the effect as hard as us. also, dont use the things like school shootings and our healthcare systems as gotchas against us because its fucking horrible + heartless”
aaaaand then they’ll turn around and say the exact same shit abt the south. haha these southern states are reopening how dumb!!! haha the south has [this problem that mostly affects people who LIVE THERE and affects poor disenfranchised poc] theyre so dumb LOLZ do u know how u fucking SOUND??