there’s no anatomy to grief, to love, to anything that matters. at least nothing we can explain. in the visible world, there is no visible love, there are only actors moving one way or the other.
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"I can’t stand being loved. leave me, leave me, leave me."
Bruce Springsteen, Born to Run // Mitski, First Love / Late Spring // Black Sea Dahu, Rhizome
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Bruce Springsteen, Born to Run
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The Untethered Soul by Michael A. Singer
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Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace
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Chen Chen, Your Emergency Contact Has Experienced an Emergency
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nobody talks about the guilt complex u get when u get a gf
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IMMORTALITY
Because that’s what it is, isn’t it? We recycle love, we stuff it back into our orifices, through music, poetry, literature. we write about love we immortalise our love, because now it is ours, and we can’t seem to realise that love is not ours but is about us. love is not a song, it is scarcely a choice, it is an attention. love is an attention. if you immortalise attention you get a statue. an unseeing bust of yourself. love can’t be the ends because it is an infinite resource. the wounds of love stay forever, but they are not cured by love. or perhaps they are. but love in its scarcity cannot be addressed by desperation because that is precisely the attitude that cannot pay attention. in being paid, love pays back.
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we have no grounds for the things we are most certain of. For example: i couldn’t tell you why or how i loved you, only that i do.
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Halley's Comet Tails, 1910
Mount Wilson Observatory
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