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Mikki Brammer, The Collected Regrets of Clover

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I think I was just born with something dark and ugly inside of me. Always waiting to be found out.

planetarium - adrienne rich/@twoheadedfawnn/ugly, bitter, and true - suzanne rivecca/a burning hill - mitski/a hora da estrela- clarice lispector/ @100493503004422/sharp objects - gillian flynn

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But I don't worship anyone or anything except the sea and the mountains and they will kill me eventually, and I will die willingly. That is my only prayer.

-Maryan Nagy Captan

#Maryan Nagy Captan #reading #literature #quotes #life #life quotes #quote #world #random beautiful stuff that i read #random quotes #stumbling on random beautiful quotes #exc

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We took an empty highway through the Sierra Madre Occidental. The road was unfinished, blocked off, but we did it anyway. We shared the highway with iguanas, cattle, no humans, and birds. I wondered how far we'd push it I didn't say, turn back, turn back. I wanted to see it to its end, but a tunnel stopped us, one we couldn't hold our breaths long enough to travel through.

-Maryan Nagy Captan

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The actual is real and not imagined,—still‚     The eye, so learned in disenchantment, sees Two trees at once, this one of summer’s will‚     And winter’s one, when no bird will assail The skyline’s hyaline transparencies‚     Emptying its architecture by degrees.

-Howard Moss

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Till everything alive weighs less and less     And, thinly felt, the weighted consciousness,

No thicker than green leaves, or the meridian‚     Grows thinner, even, to absorb the sun.

-Howard Moss

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Perhaps

Perhaps you have wept and wept, and can weep no more. Perhaps. Perhaps you ought to sleep a bit; then don’t let the nighthawk cough, the frogs croak, or the bats fly.

Don’t let the sunlight open the curtain onto your eyes. Don’t let a cool breeze brush your eyebrows. Ah, no one will be able to startle you awake: I will open an umbrella of dark pines to shelter your sleep.

Perhaps you hear earthworms digging in the mud, or listen to the root hairs of small grasses sucking up water. Perhaps this music you are listening to is lovelier than the swearing and cursing noises of men.

Then close your eyelids, and shut them tight. I will let you sleep; I will let you sleep. I will cover you lightly, lightly with yellow earth. I will slowly, slowly let the ashes of paper money fly.

-Wen Yiduo (transl. by Arthur Sze)

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"September 3"

In her parlor, drinking tea, Virginia Woolf Sees how first light enters the room Like a ghost still in need of knowledge, Her wall of books lit title by title. Now it makes a door of light On the wall and she imagines walking through, Unscathed, and emerging in the garden To watch a new sun steam over the horizon

Of wet roods, redden the highest apples In the orchard, then come to rest In the wet grass, in the cold earth's cache Of complex scents that goes on defying Her best efforts to name. The day promises Blue sky, crisp white clouds, rafts Of birds shooting the invisible currents.

What comes next must come Like a sharp pain which no doctor Has been able to explain, or cure. In her journal, she writes: "I suppose The bombs are falling on rooms  just like this In Warsaw. A fine sunny morning here, Apples shining."

Just those two sentences For September 3. Perhaps she finished Her tea, went outside. Weeds,  new blooms Of asters and chrysanthemums. What else could she have done? Perhaps A third sentence for the opposing pair Formed, revolved in her mind and dissolved Until she was sick from beginning over.

I imagine she sat at dusk in the orchard, The first apples already dropped, flaming In the grass. I imagine the earth's slow turning Was like an ache inside her, One day undone by another, and yet each day Arriving as if it would be the day She'd understand what happens, for what reasons.

-Robert Cording

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That the world the boy didn't want was still there, looming like the damaged lives of almost everyone he knew and that the light, vague and falling, which the pigeons flew into, glimmered in, effaced every trace of them.

-Robert Cording

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"Old Houses"

Year after year after year I have come to love slowly

how old houses hold themselves—

before November’s drizzled rain or the refreshing light of June—

as if they have all come to agree that, in time, the days are no longer a matter of suffering or rejoicing.

I have come to love how they take on the color of rain or sun as they go on keeping their vigil

without need of a sign, awaiting nothing

more than the birds that sing from the eaves, the seizing cold that sounds the rafters.

-Robert Cording

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I often think of it, that world inside a shell, Its tiny civilization, at least for one, carved inside A walnut, circa 1918. In the local museum, light fell In a placid summer dusk. In the shell, a garden beside A cottage and, nearby, the landscape's only complication, A tree to sit under. Sometimes I even imagine Sitting there, the tree's cool shadow a fiction Of eternity, the mind still translated by a simple tongue Naming its world.

-Robert Cording

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I belong today to my own anatomy of melancholy— its long wait for what never happens. Its shut down of the future. Its after- knowledge of death that knows no more than it did before. Its inability to complete a life that simply ended.

-Robert Cording

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i beg you to love me, say that i'm enough, but you tell me— why are you like this? i think there's something wrong with you.

for @shestrying

in image / desperation sits heavy on my tongue, tumblr user tullipsink / mary oliver, ‘north country’ / virginia woolf, letter to violet dickinson / in image / blythe baird, from if my body could speak / unknown / lynee rae perkins, criss cross / elena ferrante?? / rainer maria rilke, from rilke’s book of hours / in image/ in image

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“Maybe there’s something you’re afraid to say, or someone you’re afraid to love, or somewhere you’re afraid to go. It’s gonna hurt. It’s gonna hurt because it matters.”

— John Green

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first read on @exitmusicfrafilm’s post about 2023

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"Close your eyes", Paruyr Sevak (translated by metamorphesque)

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"I'd like to say I'm getting by and getting on with life, but the latter is a stretch. A tapeworm of grief has been eating my insides, …"

― Robert Cording

#Robert Cording #reading #literature #quotes #life #life quotes #quote #world #random beautiful stuff that i read #random quotes #stumbling on random beautiful quotes #excerpt #poem excerpt