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https://mindly.social/@EgyptianAphorist/110668232235128344
[email protected] - Bodies are like poems—
a fraction of their power
resides in their skin
The rest belongs
to the spirit
that swims through them.
https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/157817652-quarantine-notes
"Yahia Lababidi's work is characterized by a contemplat…
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Dawning
by Yahia Lababidi
There are hours where every thing creaks when chairs stretch their arms, tables their legs and closets crack their backs, incautiously
Fed up with the polite fantasy of having to stay in one place and stick to their stations
Humans, too, at work, or in love know such aches and growing pains when inner furnishings defiantly shift
As decisively, and imperceptibly, as a continent some thing will stretch, croak or come undone so that everything else must be reconsidered
One restless dawn, unable to suppress the itch of wanderlust, with a heavy door left ajar Semi-deliberately, and a new light teasing in
Some piece of immobility will finally quit suddenly nimble on wooden limbs as fast as a horse, fleeing the stable.
(via atb)
What do animals dream?
Do they dream of past lives and unlived dreams unspeakably human or unimaginably bestial? Do they struggle to catch in their slumber what is too slippery for the fingers of day? Are there subtle nocturnal intimations to illuminate their undreaming hours? Are they haunted by specters of regret do they visit their dead in drowsy gratitude? Or are they revisited by their crimes transcribed in tantalizing hieroglyphs? Do they retrace the outline of their wounds or dream of transformation, instead? Do they tug at obstinate knots inassimilable longings and thwarted strivings? Are there agitations, upheavals or mutinies against their perceived selves or fate? Are they free of strengths and weaknesses peculiar to horse, deer, bird, goat, snake, lamb or lion? Are they ever neither animal nor human but creature and Being? Do they have holy moments of understanding deep in the seat of their entity? Do they experience their existence more fully relieved of the burden of wakefulness? Do they suspect, with poets, that all we see or seem is but a dream within a dream? Or is it merely a small dying a little taste of nothingness that gathers in their mouths? Yahia Lababidi
Time: a great engraver, or eraser.
Yahia Lababidi
