Delmira Agustini, “To Your Muse”
occasionally subtle
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
$LAYYYTER
noise dept.

Origami Around
Sweet Seals For You, Always
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
Aqua Utopia|海の底で記憶を紡ぐ

Kiana Khansmith
Jules of Nature
Xuebing Du
Monterey Bay Aquarium

if i look back, i am lost
Today's Document
Three Goblin Art
AnasAbdin

#extradirty
DEAR READER
cherry valley forever
sheepfilms
seen from Lithuania

seen from Türkiye
seen from Bangladesh

seen from Singapore
seen from Bangladesh

seen from Brunei

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 India
seen from United States
seen from Latvia
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
@previouslysad
Delmira Agustini, “To Your Muse”

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“Not all writing is cursed, but surely all of it is haunted. Literature is a catacomb of past readers, past writers, past books. Traces of those who are responsible for creation linger among the words on a page; Shakespeare can’t hear us, but we can still hear him (and don’t ghosts wander through those estate houses upon the moors unaware that they’ve died?). […] Of all of the forms of expression that humanity has worked with—painting, music, sculpture—literature is the eeriest. Poetry and fiction are both incantation and conjuration, the spinning of specters and the invoking of ghosts; it is very literally listening to somebody who isn’t there, and might not have been for a long while. All writing is occult, because it’s the creation of something from ether, and magic is simply a way of acknowledging that—a linguistic practice, an attitude, a critical method more than a body of spells. We should be disquieted by literature; we should be unnerved.”
— Ed Simon, from his essay “Who’s There?: Every Story Is a Ghost Story”, published in The Millions, August 18, 2021
i love you, it looks like rain, june gehringer
Edgar Allan Poe, The Murders in the Rue Morgue
Jalal ad-Din Muhammad ar-Rumi, The Love Poems of Rumi, First published 1273

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― Haruki Murakami, A Wild Sheep Chase
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals
“Death is only looking inward. Death is our ancient mother, our first mother.”
— Juan Ramón Jiménez, tr by Robert Bly, from “Death Is Looking Inward,”
Grief is really just love. It's all the love you want to give, but cannot. All that unspent love gathers up in the corners of your eyes, the lump in your throat, and in that hollow part of your chest. Grief is just love with no place to go
— Jamie Anderson

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Megan Garber, "We've Lost the Plot: We're Already in the Metaverse", pub. The Atlantic [ID'd]
Susan Sontag, from As Consciousness Is Harnessed to Flesh: Journals and Notebooks 1964-1980
Charles Baudelaire, “Head Of Hair”
Fortesa Latifi, from The Truth About Grief.

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Sylvia Plath, aged 25, from "The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath" (dated February 21, 1958)