sylviaplathadoptmepls

[sylviaplathadoptmepls]

good poetry makes me want to kill myself but by staying alive

[sylviaplathadoptmepls]

Poetry leaves no barrier between the subject and its artistic manifestation. The result is not, as one might expect, that poetry perfectly expresses subjectivity or that poetry is subjectivity. Instead, poetry enables us to recognize that the subject’s alienation from itself is not the product of the artistic form it employs. The subject is divided from itself even in the form in which it is completely at home. Even in language without any material substrate, the subject remains alien to itself in the artwork. […] Poetry…reveals that contradiction as such is impossible to overcome.

Todd McGowan, Emancipation After Hegel: Achieving a Contradictory Revolution

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[sylviaplathadoptmepls]

Nikki Giovanni and James Baldwin

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"Love", Paruyr Sevak (translated by Tathev Simonyan)

[sylviaplathadoptmepls]

Opening

by Tess Gallagher

I entered this world not wanting to come. I'll leave it not wanting to go. All this while, when it seemed there were two doors, there was only one -- this passing through.

[sylviaplathadoptmepls]

The first moment in love is that I do not wish to be an independent person in my own right and that, if I were, I would feel deficient and incomplete. The second moment is that I find myself in another person, that I gain recognition in this person, who in turn gains recognition in me. Love is therefore the most immense contradiction. 

Hegel

[sylviaplathadoptmepls]

"I love you , I'm glad we're friends"

[sylviaplathadoptmepls]

On Love and Community

@princes-heels // ? // @inkskinned // mitski, my love mine all mine//@littlespoonsokka // @boymiffy // @2aminhouston // ? // @theviralwitch // @noodle // @criterioncollectiongirl // @fatsoupy // ? // @mjalti // george saunders, congratulations, by the way// @jb-blunk // @ponchopeligroso // @headspace-hotel // everything, everywhere, all at once(2022) //@cheruib // ? // ? // @tordenvejr

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@roach-works // Melissa Broder, "Problem Area" // Mary Oliver, "The Return" // @annavonsyfert // Koyoharu Gotouge, Demon Slayer // Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance // David Levithan, How They Met and Other Stories // Tennessee Williams, Notebooks

[sylviaplathadoptmepls]

I really thought grief was just a constant state of catatonia but I’m entirely wrong bc you feel like you’re normal and okay for maybe most of the day but then it creeps up on you again and chokes you all out of nowhere and then you rebound and feel okay again and then there it is creeping up on you again and it literally never ends it’s like motion sickness

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Leila Chatti, "Postcard from Gone"

[sylviaplathadoptmepls]

Preface to a Twenty Volume Suicide Note

by Amiri Baraka

Lately, I’ve become accustomed to the way The ground opens up and envelopes me Each time I go out to walk the dog. Or the broad edged silly music the wind Makes when I run for a bus… Things have come to that. And now, each night I count the stars. And each night I get the same number. And when they will not come to be counted, I count the holes they leave. Nobody sings anymore. And then last night I tiptoed up To my daughter’s room and heard her Talking to someone, and when I opened The door, there was no one there… Only she on her knees, peeking into Her own clasped hands.

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The Loneliest Job in the World

by Tony Hoagland

As soon as you begin to ask the question, Who loves me? you are completely screwed, because the next question is How Much?

and then it is hundreds of hours later, and you are still hunched over your flowcharts and abacus,

trying to decide if you have gotten enough. This is the loneliest job in the world: to be an accountant of the heart.

It is late at night. You are by yourself, and all around you, you can hear the sounds of people moving

in and out of love, pushing the turnstiles, putting their coins in the slots,

paying the price which is asked, which constantly changes. No one knows why.

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“We cannot live in a world that is interpreted for us by others. An interpreted world is not a home. Part of the terror is to take back our own listening. To use our own voice. To see our own light.”

— Hildegard von Bingen, from ‘Selected Writings’ (via wraith-lace)

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—Mary Oliver, The Uses of Sorrow