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A Palestinian girl walks in the al-Shati refugee camp in Gaza City. Mohammed Abed

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Falling asleep dreaming of the versions of me I didn't dare to be.

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Since I was very young, I’ve been terrified of my own potential to do evil. No vision or dream taught me. From experience, I recognized that people, like things, are fragile; that they are endlessly imbricated; that intention and effect often have no relation; that I, insofar as I knew myself, contained malice, and that other people did too, because I’d suffered theirs. At a young age, I vowed to be “unselfish,” my version of harm being equated with the primacy of the self. I’ve developed a more sophisticated morality, but that vow is deeply embedded. I do, in fact, seek to be good, despite the inevitability of failure. I don’t think this is just a hangover of childhood habit; in the Bible I have found truth as well as beauty, and in theologians like James Cone and Howard Thurman, among many others, I have found a vision of Christianity written by and for the oppressed. […] Do you see God everywhere? Now what will you do?

— Elisa Gonzalez, in “No Good Has Come: Marilynne Robinson’s testimony for the white church”

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It's a most distressing affliction to have a sentimental heart and a skeptical mind.

Nagulb Mahfouz, Sugar Street

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One Day (2024)

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Andrei Tarkovsky

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And all I loved, I loved alone.

Edgar Allan Poe

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Daily Dylan 2024 - 016

By Jerry Schatzberg

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sam sax from bury it (2018)

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i like to believe that ophelia’s madness gave her a kind of meta knowledge of the plot— that she saw the tragic ending coming, knew that hamlet’s indecision would be his hamartia, that she realised gertrude and claudius were both poisoned with corruption from the beginning and instead of the customary funeral goers laying flowers at a grave, it was Ophelia— mad, at death’s door, about to die in less than 2 scenes— who handed flowers to the king, queen and protagonist as if the dead girl was mourning the living

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the fact that i'm no longer the same age as the protagonists of novels and films i once connected to is so heartbreaking. there was a time when I looked forward to turning their age. i did. and i also outgrew them. i continue to age, but they don't; never will. the immortality of fiction is beautiful, but cruel.

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I hate myself for everything i could have become but didn't