Christa Wolf, from Cassandra: A Novel and Four Essays
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i think my body is falling in pieces i think my blood is passing me by
Micah Nemerever These Violent Delights / I.B. Vyache Excerpt 07.01.21 / Silas Denver Melvin excerpt from Grit: A Poetry Collection / Christa Wolf excerpt from Cassandra: A Novel and Four Essays / Ethel Cain Family Tree (Intro) / unknown / Fiona Apple Left Alone / Richard Siken The Worm King's Lullaby / Gwen Benaway Holy Wild
i. Micah Nemerever, These Violent Nights
[ "I don't think you've ever felt anything that didn't hurt you. / We've found each other, out of everyone else in the world. Does that hurt, too?" ]
ii. I.B. Vyache, Excerpt 07.01.21
[ "It's time to forgive my hands for being hands. I'm going to hate myself a little less tomorrow. I'm going to hate myself a little less tomorrow." ]
iii. unknown
[ "have you shot a gun? is your blood authentic? is your blood authentic? is your blood authentic? can you prove it to me?" ]
iv. Christa Wolf, Cassandra: A Novel and Four Essays
[ "You looked at me / (did you still see me?)" ]
v. Ethel Cain, Family Tree (Intro)
[ "The fate's already fucked me sideways / Swinging by my neck from the family tree / He'll laugh and say, 'You know I raised you better than this' / Then leave me hanging so they all can laugh at me" ]
vi. unknown
[ "I fight. I resist. It doesn't even matter what I resist; there is simply something in me that tends to resist things as they are. I have been fighting since I was very small." ]
vii. Fiona Apple, Left Alone
[ "[Chorus] / How can I ask anyone to love me / When all I do is beg to be left alone?" ]
viii. Richard Siken, The Worm King's Lullaby
[ "Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story." ]
ix. Gwen Benaway, Holy Wild
[ "I am tired of explaining the fire, / it burns because it must." ]
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Yes, I like being able to hold on to something forever, no matter
how small it is.
Christa Wolf, from "They Divided The Sky: A Novel," publ. in 1963
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I was torn by an anguish that never left me, no matter what happened.
~Christa Wolf
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High fences of realization built on the liquid like foundation of my murky soul.
My desire for love when kept untouched grew into resentment towards myself.
Soothed only by the hands of death on the base of my spine stitching me back together I, her only leftover with words of comfort.
"Life goes on". Is its construction mantra.
Out of deaths lips its arbitrary, a stolen promise; like all the souls that it deemed unfit to be renovated.
The hand of death on the base of my spine, on the back of my neck
it grounds me; I find comfort in it.
the way it caress me so lovingly, a threat of a postpartum psychotic mother to an oblivious child.
Death was never particularly appealing to me, it’s the thought of not existing
not now, not in the past, nor the future. to never be, with no trace whatsoever.
To cease to exist all together With no leftovers, nor broken lovers.
It’s not a constant desire, more of a lure, a forbidden love. A slow burn romance with a happy ending
One that I’ll never reach out to willingly but if it ever reached out to me then I know for sure that I’m not strong enough to reject it.
Because life loses its colors from time to time…
And that leaves me, like a person suffering from aphasia. I lose the ability to understand the point of it all…
I try hard to redefine everything, yet, I can’t express it not even when I reach for a semi-stable ground with all my words.
sensitive, i let life play me like an instrument, so responsive.
i increase the tone of whatever melody goes through me..
do it so i hurt anyone who loves me enough to listen. And because I can’t just fade…. And because I don’t have the upper hand…. I make sure to leave my mark, I make sure I have a way to I leave.
And then I choose not to.
•••
•Quotes: Christa Wolf / Joyce Carol Oates/ Sylvia Plath/Susan Sontag/ Virginia Woolf / Ocean Vuong / Molly Brodak/ Halsey
•Original context: Sinligh
•art reference:
1. Painting by John Bagnold Burgess (detail)
Painting by Roberto Ferri ( detail)
2. Painting by Émile Vernon (detail)
3. The Grasshopper by Jules Joseph Lefebvre. (detail)
4. Painting by Valeria Duca.
5. red" by Hei Shan.
6. Sleeping Beauty by William Oxer.
7. Halsey from her Ig post: iamhalsey (detail)
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“I felt there was no point in telling anyone anything that was happening inside me.”
// Christa Wolf, tr. by Jan van Heurck, “Cassandra: A Novel & Four Essays,”
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Christa Wolf, from "they divided the sky: a novel"
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At night the madness goes for my throat.
~Christa Wolf
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