Text

Rockwell Kent (American, 1882-1971, b. Tarrytown Heights, NY, USA) - To the Stars, 1937, Paintings: Oil on Canvas
47 notes
·
View notes
Text
apples and pomegranates
morning. You peel apples and slice them, then tell me you refuse to bite off a mouthful. “Mouths are meant for talking, not chewing.” I look at your plate across mine and consider; fruit is partitioned the same way your life is placed in boxes. You just moved in and nobody was free except for me. (I am always free for you.) We talk. You offer a slice of apple and I wonder how you would eat…
#about fruits#musings#poem#poetry#prose#prose poem#prose poetry#prose writing#thoughts#writing#writing as a coping mechanism#writing as exploration
0 notes
Text
Fox and His Friends (Rainer Werner Fassbinder, 1975)
314 notes
·
View notes
Text




The Warmth of Berlin's Cafés during the Shortened Daylight Hours. Berlin, December 2024
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
Margarita Karapanou, tr. by N.C. Germanacos, from Kassandra and the Wolf
[Text ID: "the sweetness had blocked my throat,"]
737 notes
·
View notes
Text




Keika's 100 Chrysanthemums, 1893, Keika Hasegawa
4K notes
·
View notes
Text




Burbiškis manor tulips in a bed of snow.
Photos: Laura Prascevičiūtė
844 notes
·
View notes
Text
Christmas Eve in Miller's Point (Tyler Taormina, 2024)
110 notes
·
View notes
Text

Mary Oliver, from "Lilies" in House of Light: Poems
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Survey Map of a Paradise Lost (Hisayasu Satô, 1988)
332 notes
·
View notes
Text
Megan Williams, from "There Will Be Bad Days" [ID in ALT]
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
Emergency Management
by Camille Rankine
The sun eats away at the earth, or the earth eats away at itself and burning up, I sip at punch. So well practiced at this living. I have a way of seeing things as they are: it’s history that’s done this to me. It’s the year I’m told my body will turn rotten, my money talks but not enough, I feel my body turn against me. Some days I want to spit me out, the whole mess of me, but mostly I am good and quiet. How much silence buys me mercy, how much silence covers all the lives it takes to make me. In the event of every day and its newness of disaster, find me sunning on the rooftop, please don’t ask anything of me. If I could be anything I would be the wind, if I could be nothing I would be.
319 notes
·
View notes