the-sea-watches-neptune
Let Me Dream…
Inspiration…Confusion…Illusion…Dreams.
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Dark Clouds in Aquila: LDN 673 ©
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“نور چشم من”
— Nur-e cheshm-e man
Farsi, literally, “the light of my eyes”. Used to show how one person is the life of someone’s being.
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Saturn in near-infrared
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Night. The stars and the moon impassive, undisturbed, eternal. A little of their impassivity flows into me. They are consoling. They reduce the intensity and acuteness of human sorrow. I feel less strangled, less oppressed.
Anaïs Nin, from the diary of Anaïs Nin, 1939-1944
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The Gamma Cygni Nebula✨
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“At the present time, I long only to sleep and to remain silent. I am sick of humanity.”
— Albert Camus to Jean Grenier, Correspondence 1932-1960
(via acknowledgetheabsurd)
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old english word of the day: brimflod, the sea’s flowing, the ocean-flood, sea
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Comet ATLAS near 41 Draconis © Dan Bartlett
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thinking about all the “small” art that’s ever existed. songs that were only ever sung in one village. stories written by children that got lost in the shuffle. personal paintings that didn’t survive the test of time. how they affected the lives of just a few, but still existed, still mattered to someone.
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Sometimes I look to the night sky and think “am I even from this world?” because the distant stars seem to call my name a little too loudly.
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An extraordinary deep-sea sighting: The giant phantom jelly (MBARI Monterey Bay Aquarium Research Institute)
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Day 1: Cycles
The waves crash over me,
Something out there…it chills me to my core
I’ve been to this place before
A muddied reflection, Who was I supposed to be?
There’s a hole in my memory, jagged, red and sore
The waves crash over me
Oceans blurred far as the eye can see
But shells litter the seaside shore
I’ve been to this place before
Stars flicker above me, silver saint galore
Who did this to me?
The waves crash over me
Darkness is left now, a cycle that only I can see
What pain, what punishment, was this what I was mean for?
The waves crash over me
I’ve been to this place before
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Sombrero Galaxy in Virgo © Hubble & Spitzer
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So here’s a sob story—I spent 2.5 hours on this stupid fucking poem about a pivotal moment of my life, and when my professor asked (after lovely discussion by the class what it could mean and the nuances of it) me to explain some of it or talk about it, she interrupted my excitement to tell me that because the poem wasn’t universal, and not everyone would understand my niche references, it was not effective.
She turned my recollection of a personal moment in my life into a teaching moment of how NOT to write an effective poem.
It’s not perfect. In some places it’s cringey, a couple likes kind of suck, but never in my LIFE did I think I’d have a professor say to my face that because a POEM was too vague, and my references too niche, it wasn’t good.
I didn’t think it was perfect—I just didn’t know there was specific criteria I was required to meet in a POEM about MYSELF so that you could better understand an ARTISTIC INTERPRETATION of my OWN LIFE.
In front of twenty other people.
Here’s my stupid fucking poem that was so bad the whole class got to learn how not to write from it.
Maybe I’m honestly just not cut out for this.
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