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[aloudsecretly]

You think you can simplify everything using metaphors and analogies, communication tells you that it is possible to do so and that's when language as much as it makes you free to do so, it limits. Just when you think those raheem ke dohe are accurate analogies for things in life, you limit yourself to think that's the course things will take. Just because some analogy fits perfectly in your condition doesn't limit it to its course too?

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Yes love yes I love and adore you and will stand up as an ally but how unreasonable of you to expect there won't be days where I grow tired of your habit or see your selfishness with more disdain, there'll be days you'll not be the peace I seek but a reason to seek peace within myself alone and yet if we both listen if we both try and if we both understand we'll know our road wouldn't be , two roads that diverged in a yellow wood.

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\\you're not Icarus

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Ada Limón, from “The Unspoken”, The Hurting Kind

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“One wants to get grief right, more than almost any other subject, because to falsify grief is to trivialize and oversimplify what’s quiet, chaotic, lonely, meditative, howling, numb, exposed.”

— Daisy Fried, from her essay “Silent Forests of the Heart”, published at the Poetry Foundation, February 28, 2022

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“…I was made up of a multitude of selves, of fragments.”

— Anaïs Nin, in a diary entry from The Diary of Anaïs Nin: Volume One, 1931-1934

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— Ocean Vuong, Reasons for Staying

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Rainer Maria Rilke, Rilke’s Book of Hours

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“[Words] are a bridge that, paradoxically, breaks isolation and loneliness without eradicating it. It is the first experience you ever had of reading a decent poem: “Oh, somebody else is lonely, too!” It is the most fragile relationship in the world.  Colette calls a poem “that secret, that dried rose, that scar, that sin.” James Tate uses as an epigraph for one of his books a line by James Salter: “Here then, faintly discolored and liable to come apart if you touch it, is the corsage that I kept from the dance.” In Hindu poetics, “a poem is recognised as such by those who have a heart.” If you do not have a heart, you cannot recognize a poem. The heart is a small closed space, a symbol or souvenir of the inner life, the secret life, the silent life. It is liable to come apart if you touch it.”

— Mary Ruefle, from “On Secrets,” in Madness, Rack, and Honey

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As a society we are embarrassed by love. We treat it as if it were an obscenity. We reluctantly admit to it. Even saying the word makes us stumble and blush . . . Love is the most important thing in our lives, a passion for which we would fight or die, and yet we’re reluctant to linger over its names. Without a supple vocabulary, we can’t even talk or think about it directly.

—DIANE ACKERMAN

From All about Love by Bell Hooks

#bellhooks #books #allaboutlove #love

#practicelove #quotes #life #writing

[aloudsecretly]

First signs of civilisation"

I read about Margaret Mead, an anthropologist who talked about healed human femur being the first signs of civilisation because it meant in the savage animal kingdom there was someone more by this man's side to take care of him long enough for the broken femur to be healed and this symbolises civilisation. Thinking if such intimate and grouped culture of existence also shared by animals without conscious would also then counter this argument I asked my friend what she thought could be the first signs of civilisation and she said she always thought it would be the burials and we're no anthropologists to go hunting for late evidences but in thought I don't fail to agree with her.

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Fleabag (2016 - 2019) / beetlejuices / bondhu tomar (friend of mine), krishnokoli / honeybee, trista mateer / honeytuesday / motion sickness, phoebe bridgers / chungking express (1994) / hope ur ok, olivia rodrigo / Ocean Vuong, from On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous / by langston hughes

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Sylvia Plath

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Exist together

“It’s enough for me to be sure that you and I exist at this moment.”

— Gabriel García Márquez, One Hundred Years of Solitude (tr. by Gregory Rabassa), 1967

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The pleasure in known inevitable

Franz Kafka, The Diaries of Franz Kafka

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Rachel Forrest // Unknown // S. C. Lourie

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A religion of sass, strength and wit