☾

— Madelaine Lucas, Thirst for Salt (Tin House Books, March 7, 2023)  (via dk-thrive)

Jenny Xie, from "Zuihitsu",  Eye Level

— F. Scott Fitzgerald, “The Sensible Thing” in The Short Stories

— Theodore Roethke, from “Straw for the fire.”

— Chelsea Wolfe, from Pain Is Beauty; “Sick,” released in 2013 (via violentwavesofemotion)

— Yiwei Chai, The Jacaranda Years (via crowsummer)

From Jeanette Winterson's recent substack article

[ text ID: Nostalgia in reverse, the longing for yet another strange land, grew especially strong in spring. ]

Madmen, Aditi Nagrath

[Text ID: “Without my noticing, spring had come again.]

— Clarice Lispector, from A Breath of Life, tr. Johnny Lorenz (via firstfullmoon)

Kay Fochtmann Pão de Açúcar, Rio de Janeiro, 2011

Always falling into a hole, then saying “ok, this is not your grave, get out of this hole,” getting out of the hole which is not the grave, falling into a hole again, saying “ok, this is also not your grave, get out of this hole,” getting out of that hole, falling into another one; sometimes falling into a hole within a hole, or many holes within holes, getting out of them one after the other, then falling again, saying “this is not your grave, get out of the hole”; sometimes being pushed, saying “you can not push me into this hole, it is not my grave,” and getting out defiantly, then falling into a hole again without any pushing; sometimes falling into a set of holes whose structures are predictable, ideological, and long dug, often falling into this set of structural and impersonal holes; sometimes falling into holes with other people, with other people, saying “this is not our mass grave, get out of this hole,” all together getting out of the hole together, hands and legs and arms and human ladders of each other to get out of the hole that is not the mass grave but that will only be gotten out of together; sometimes the willful-falling into a hole which is not the grave because it is easier than not falling into a hole really, but then once in it, realizing it is not the grave, getting out of the hole eventually;  sometimes falling into a hole and languishing there for days, weeks, months, years, because while not the grave very difficult, still, to climb out of and you know after this hole there’s just another and another; sometimes surveying the landscape of holes and wishing for a high quality final hole; sometimes thinking of who has fallen into holes which are not graves but might be better if they were; sometimes too ardently contemplating  the final hole while trying to avoid the provisional ones; sometimes dutifully falling and getting out, with perfect fortitude, saying “look at the skill and spirit with which I rise from that which resembles the grave but isn’t!” 

Emily Brontë; Wuthering Heights (via quotexcerpts)

— Sylvia Plath, from a journal entry featured in The Journals of Sylvia Plath: 1950-1962 (via watchoutforintellect)

Andrei Tarkovsky, fragment from the script of “The Sacrifice”, 1986

— Louise Glück, from Evening Prayers in “Poems 1962-2012”