When it comes down to to to it, the question is:
what do I do?
I don’t know, so I do nothing
and if I never know, I’ll never go
I’ll sit like a match unlit
until the light hits me too
I still know nothing
so nothing’s what I’ll do
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tomorrow, and tomorrow, and tomorrow
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Whispers rustle through the forest's hall
Where shadows dance and echoes call
In the heart of nature's twisted grace
A sanctuary found in twisted space
Beneath the canopy's twisted arms
Lie secrets buried, with silent alarms
A tapestry of vines, a bed of thorns
Where innocence dies and sorrow mourns
The trees, they weep with silent tears
As bones entwine with ancient fears
Roots dig deep into the earth's embrace
Clutching memories of a forbidden place
In the undergrowth, where rot does thrive
Lies the truth of those barely alive
Their cries swallowed by the forest's breath
Their final resting place, sealed in death
Yet amidst the decay, a strange allure
As if the forest's heart holds a cure
A twisted beauty in its darkest core
Where life and death dance forevermore
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what resembles the grave but isn’t, anne boyer // i didn’t apologize to the well, mahmoud darwish (trans. fady joudah).
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secrets of farming (1863) - john w. large
"yeowch augh taking damage ough eurgh"
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noo don’t cry about july ending and the time passing, just remember the july poem :)
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there's something a little off
about me
there's something a bit wrong
with me
I don't know what to do
as you can see
and don't know what to choose
i'm falling
i'm flailing
cause i can't swim
and i'm failing
cause i don't win
and i'm trying
though honestly i'm not
and i'm ok
(yes i am)
(no youre not)
and i know that
him and me
can never be
cause i'm much too close to the edge
of insane-insanity
and i walk and walk
and talk and talk
and i act and lie
like i'm fine
that i'm fine
cause i'm fine
and nothing hurts
and it's cold
and i feel worse
but i don't know
what i should know
and i can't do
what i should be able to
cause there's something a little off
about me
something a little wrong
with me
but i don't know
what it could
possibly be
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It's fun reading writers who clearly grew up in suburban/urban environments as someone who grew up on a farm because they're always like "oh it was so creepy, woods at night, eerily breathtaking, something was living in there..." and it's like yeah that'll be the deer.
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at least once a day you should read a poem that slices you clean in half. and then you go to the post office or something
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Happy birthday Kim Dokja! Thank you for your story.
the text is the poem "If I Can Stop One Heart from Breaking" by Emily Dickinson
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ALSO. the destiel language barrier is so sweet. bc Dean communicates in these abstract referential little circles that Cas can't quite parse. The Michael sword is saying incomprehensible riddles again. but Cas is SO charmed by it that he starts studying it and experimenting with it and trying to meet Dean on his level. and his butchering of idioms is played for laughs but he's mimicking Dean's linguistic patterns as a way of getting closer to him. because he loves him <3
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Look I just think that if you’ve ever loved Star Trek, Like really loved it (not just had a passing interest or casually consumed it) then it’s gonna be a part of you forever. It injects a little whimsy in you. A little thoughtfulness and curiosity and wonder. I’ll watch Star Trek and every time I do I feel like a little kid staring up at the stars holding onto the grass. I’ll watch Star Trek and every time I’m sitting out sharing a sweater with my friend as we talk about Spock and the sun starts to set. I’ll watch Star Trek and it’s the same feeling of calm awe that I get when I sit in the aquarium.
Aliens aside it’s about humanity. It’s always about humanity and trying to understand despite it all (which I think is a core tenet of humanity). And if that compels you then it’s going to stay with you. No matter if the packaging is a bit silly. Maybe even because the packaging is silly.
Also once you love Spock I don’t think you can stop
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