How do you process grief?
by running from it until it finds me in the middle of a sunny street on a beautiful day
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@septemberetcetera
How do you process grief?
by running from it until it finds me in the middle of a sunny street on a beautiful day

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Eileen Myles, "Sleepless." I Must Be Living Twice: New and Selected Poems 1975 - 2014
“chuffed doesnt mean what you think it means”
it means exactly what i think it means its just some stupid word that literally has two definitions that mean the opposite thing
what the hell
This makes me really chuffed
This post is quite egregious
Well I’m nonplussed by this whole post.
goddamnit.
all of you go to hell
And you wonder why i am boggled at times
These are called contronyms! A word that is its own opposite.
Why the fuck do these exist
One theory is that the sarcastic use of the word became exceedingly prevalent and because another dictionary definition.
Are you telling me that we were such sarcastic shits it literally changed our language.
Literally is another example now.
There are 21 languages that have Contronyms/Contranyms.
English has 128 contranyms, almost 5 times that of language with the next highest number of contronyms (Arabic with 26) and more than the total number of crontranyms of every other language combined (89).
We just love being contrary little shits

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“A poem…begins as a lump in the throat, a sense of wrong, a homesickness, a lovesickness. It is a reaching-out toward expression; an effort to find fulfillment. A complete poem is one where an emotion finds the thought and the thought finds the words.”
— Robert Frost in his letter to Louis Untermeyer, dated 1 January 1916
Miroslav Holub, ‘The Root of the Matter’, Selected Poems (trans. Ian Milner & George Theiner)
[Text ID: “There is poetry in everything. That is the biggest argument against poetry.”]
I don’t trust the truth of memories because what leaves us departs forever There’s only one current of this sacred river but I still want to remain faithful to my first astonishments to recognize as wisdom the child’s wonder and to carry in myself until the end a path in the woods of my childhood dappled with patches of sunlight to search for it everywhere in museums in the shades of churches this path on which I ran unaware a six-year old toward my primary mysterious aloneness.
Anna Kamienska, “A Path in the Woods,” from Astonishments, Selected Poems of Anna Kamienska (edited and translated by Grazyna Drabik and David Curzon, Paraclete Press, 2007)
“The year is going, let him go;”
— Alfred Lord Tennyson, from “In Memoriam, [Ring out, wild bells]”

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one of the many reasons that i love fiona apple is the consistent theme of i have myself, i will save myself, i will protect myself, that i don't see that much in music. "better that i break the window, than him, or her, or me. especially me." that line perfectly captures that essence that is present in so many of her songs. yes she has songs like daredevil asking for someone to watch out for her, but it comes after the strong sense of self preservation. i really love that both narratives exist in her music and that they don't cancel each other out. they coexist. i have myself and i will save myself, but i also want you to watch out for me. it's all in the also.
HAPPY NEW YEAR
If the entire existence of the Earth–
all 4.54 billion years– were condensed
into just one year, accordioned together
like a head-on collision, humans
would enter the party in the second
half of the last minute of the last day.
Just in time to fall in love with
a stranger and coax the ball to drop
like a disco egg and spill out a fetal
new year. By then, the dinosaurs
would all be asleep, black-out drunk
from their 30-minute binge.
Imagine a world war that lasts
a heartbeat. A century passed over
like a page in a flipbook. A baby
conceived and buried as an old man
in the same moment. You and I
are not dinosaurs and we are not
buried yet, so think of your heartache–
the one festering inside you at this
very moment, the poison doe
nuzzling itself against your throat.
Picture your anxiety, your midnight
panic, your fear, your perennial doubt:
each of these becomes not even a word
in the book, barely a grain of sugar
in the bowl. This is not a devaluing
of your pain but a dethroning.
An adjustment of the microscope’s lens.
Look up. The fireworks have started.
Kiss me. They will be gone so soon.
- Sierra DeMulder
love hides in questions, you cannot ask a thing without giving yourself away. how was your day? (i hope it was good) when can i see you again? (i pray it's soon) do you feel safe with me? (i feel safe with you) what is your favorite color? (i wish to enrobe you in all that makes you smile)
thinking about how orpheus turning to look back at eurydice isn’t a sign of mortal frailness but a sign of love
“Eurydice, dying now a second time, uttered no complaint against her husband. What was there to complain of, but that she had been loved?” ― Ovid, Metamorphoses
This is true no matter the version you're reading.
1. Eurydice trips and Orpheus turns to help her because he loves her.
2. Orpheus cannot hear Eurydice behind him, and fearing that he's been tricked, turns to make sure she's there.
3. Orpheus makes it out of the Underworld, and so full of love and excitement to be with Eurydice, turns to embrace her, forgetting that they both need to be out of the Underworld.
No matter what happens in the story, Orpheus loses Eurydice because his love for her compels him to look.
Orpheus, I can forgive you, then, There’s not a soul alive who wouldn’t have looked back
The Descent, by Tyler King
Don’t forget Gluck’s opera, where Eurydice doesn’t know Orpheus is forbidden to look back, Orpheus is also forbidden to tell her, she assumes he must not love her anymore, and Orpheus finally looks back to reassure her of his love because he can’t bear her anguish.
In that version in particular, but possibly in all retellings, a part of us wants Orpheus to look back, because his failure proves his love.
I'd be the voice that urged Orpheus When her body was found I'd be the choiceless hope in grief That drove him underground I'd be the dreadful need in the devotee That made him turn around (Hey ya) And I'd be the immediate forgiveness In Eurydice
- Talk, Hozier
women can not be blamed for having hundreds of screenshots we’ll never use in our camera roll. it’s the gatherer instinct

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ON LOVE AS A WEAPON
franz kafka // a.j. // ada limón // yves olade // margaret atwood // natalie wee // richard siken // hala alyan
Emily Wilson, from “Postcard I almost send to an almost lover,” featured in THE BOHEMYTH (Dublin, Ireland)