millmothandwick

[millmothandwick]

thinking about june jordan saying that in the context of tragedy all polite behavior is a form of denial

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Most of writing is thinking, not typing, and thinking is sometimes best done while doing something else that engages part of you. Walking or cooking or labouring on simple or repetitive tasks can also be a way to leave the work behind so you can come back to it fresh or find unexpected points of entry into it.

Rebecca Solnit, Orwell’s Roses

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Roland Barthes, A Lover's Discourse: Fragments (trans. Richard Howard) [ID in ALT]

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― Joan Didion, Blue Nights

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Understand that there is a beast within you that can drink till it is sick, but cannot drink till it is satisfied. Understand that it will use the conventions of the visible world to turn your tongue to stone. It alone knows you. It does not wish you well. 

—Frank Bidart, excerpt of "The Third Hour of the Night", in Half Light

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Seamus Heaney

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Marguerite Duras, from The Lover

Text ID: I am worn out with desire.

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Adam Zagajewski, “A Flame,” trans. Renata Gorczynski and Clare Cavanaugh

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The Sacrificial Lamb by Josefa de Óbidos, 1670

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As one expects of a lyric poet, We look at the world once, in childhood. The rest is memory.

— Louise Glück, from “Nostros,” Meadowlands (Ecco, 1997)

[millmothandwick]

BoJack Horseman S06E07 ‘The Face of Depression’

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thinking about how orpheus turning to look back at eurydice isn’t a sign of mortal frailness but a sign of love

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Evelyn De Morgan (1855-1919), The Angel of Death, 1880, oil on canvas, 93 x 112.8 cm. De Morgan Foundation.

[millmothandwick]

Some cool signs

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All those memories, you wouldn’t want them over again, there’s no point. What’s next, you ask yourself. You ask it ten thousand times.

Roo Borson, Ten Thousand (via sagmoonn)

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My soul is light. She is not afraid to dance the agony alone, for I was born wearing your shirt, will come from the dead with that shirt on.

Vera Pavlova, I am in love, hence free to live (via sagmoonn)

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Anaïs Nin, Fire: From “A Journal of Love”: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1934–1937