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i want to harden my heart against the weather. to say its been enough and leave only some sort of stoic carcass behind, to show up to places pale and unmoved.
i want you to put the bullet in my mouth and bring my jaw together hard. i want you to betray me in the worst places.
you have to leave me, so i can live the way of the warning signs. so i can breathe fully alone and unbothered
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“are you / going to / save me? or just hold me down? am I / just another thing to kill? am I / anything at all?”
— Yves Olade, from The Miracle Mille; Bloodsport, 2017
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And at last can grant a name
To a buried and a burning flame
As love and its decisive pain
Oh, my sunlight, sunlight, sunlight
— of sunlight, and your hand in mine.
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“Time is not a straight line, it’s more of a labyrinth, and if you press close to the wall at the right place you can hear the hurrying steps and the voices, you can hear yourself walking past on the other side.”
— Tomas Tranströmer (1931-2015), from “Answers to Letters”, in: “The Great Enigma”, translated from the Swedish by Robin Fulton
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is it gonna happen?
unknow / @ell-hs / @rumiensze / Anne Carson ,The Beauty of the Husband / Isle of Dogs (2018) / @ell-hs
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@roach-works // Melissa Broder, "Problem Area" // Mary Oliver, "The Return" // @annavonsyfert // Koyoharu Gotouge, Demon Slayer // Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance // David Levithan, How They Met and Other Stories // Tennessee Williams, Notebooks
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Gabriel Zaid, from "Circe" as featured in Gods and Mortals: Modern Poems on Classical Myths
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🧣
Send me a red emoji and I’ll post an excerpt from my journal
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the only one carrying memory. me with my handwoven basket, filled with the smoke that clung to the walls.
you left memory behind in your exodus. those two, in their self absolution.
but I see it, i see it like the back of my hand. and you notice when you watch me in the mirror, eyes water rimmed for just a spare, time-suspended second.
the one stranger who came in and air sealed the black soot in me, he remembers? my half grown body left there, by the dainty faded vodka bottle
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i didn't tell you when I told you,
i love you (te amo, an echo)
the room locked deep within me that you can never get to. you could, i didn't tell you.
i haven't ever asked you anything with my own tongue, have never begged through teeth that are actually mine. you have so little of me, a half, a quarter.
the first thing ive ever read, my first heartfelt thought, I could never tell you.
not the way it is, and the imitation wounds me sometimes.
i know almost all you know, and you don't even know how to name me. it would come out wrong, your sweet mouth landing so far from my one owned root.
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Winter Night in the Forest - Svend Svendsen 1864-1945 (mirrored) /
red angels
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i was there with my little bucket, putting out fires.
and you showed up, hands fire-engine red, as tall and soot free as a man can get,
said softly it's all out.
I didn't think it possible, enough goodness to take even the smoke away.
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