"Words? Music? No: it’s what’s behind."
— James Joyce, Ulysses
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holding onto love is like carrying this giant backpack
filled with books and research papers
on how to be human.
I carry it with me every day,
with no intention to read them
I just carry it with me
for the sake of feeling heavy and down
I just carry it with me
for the sake of feeling like I have a reason.
A purpose.
Sometimes I open these books
To read. But I end up not understanding
What is written inside.
Sometimes I open these books
To just leave them on a table. Sunny side up
With no one to peak in.
Lack of attention. Lack of patience.
So they sit there,
long forgotten.
-A.Š.
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Will they fall on their feet as they say?
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silent-poetry-deactivated202211:
Edward Steichen
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There’s this specific thing I love about Poland, Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia right now, it’s that Ukraine does not need to explain ourselves to them. THEY KNOW.
We say that russians are killing, raping, torturing us and they don’t ask for any further proof. They have been there before. THEY KNOW.
We ask for help, any possible help, preferably weapon, so we could protect ourselves, so we could kill our enemy and they give it without hesitation, even though they don’t have much themself. THEY KNOW.
There’s something so reassuring about this instant understanding, unconditional help and trust. To have someone you don’t need to convince that you’re the victim here. To have someone who’ll scream at the West for you, when you have no words left from the horror. To have someone whos actions are echoed with ghosts of past and one repeated line “We know. We know. We know.”
(via into-the-hell)
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Les deux têtes(1898) - Auguste Leroux
for Victor Hugo’s “La confiance du marquis Fabrice”(via wayward-cat)
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(via wayward-cat)
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“sorry English is not my first language” I say. As if I make any sense in my first language
(via lady-circus)
