Everyone is a genius. But if you judge a fish on its ability to climb a tree, it will ive its whole life believing that it is stupid.
it’s moments like—Charles Bukowski
this- you can feel it
happening- that you grow
partly into something
else strange and
so when death comes
it can only take
We lay our words like tenuous plats, build a bridge over its—Cate Marvin
unsinkable depth: Not a sea of longing,
but the brack of wanting what’s physical
to help us forget we are physical.
i forget that other people see you the way i see you.
he said it like he said everything else, quietly enough that it was disregarded, but loud enough that it settled in and lived within her.
everybody knows what somebody means when they say that.
it means that the way you scrunch your nose when you’re deep in thought resonates with someone else’s body. it isn’t just yours; your movements don’t begin and end with you. they move forward and affect others in waves of pain, waves of love, waves of simple movement.
she liked to believe that what she did and who she was stopped at the walls of her own body, her own life. but reality is that nothing you do, nothing you are, is ever yours alone. we want to be our own person, live our own story, but don’t you know, she said, we belong to people.
it’s not about possession. it’s just like the way you laugh has lived within someone else’s soul since the beginning of time. and there’s not a thing wrong with that.
What is a poet? An unhappy person who conceals profound anguish in his heart but whose lips are so formed that as sighs and cries pass over them they sound like beautiful music.
I Am A Beggar Always
i am a beggar always
who begs in your mind
(slightly smiling, patient, unspeaking
with a sign on his
am this person of whom somehow
you are never wholly rid(and who
does not ask for more than
just enough dreams to
after all, kid
you might as well
toss him a few thoughts
a little love preferably,
anything which you can’t
pass off on other people: for
the he will maybe (hearing something
fall into his hat)go wandering
after it with fingers;till having
what was thrown away
taptaptaps out of your brain, hopes, life
to(carefully turning a
corner)never bother you any more
…I’m interested in cartography, and how our maps reflect the way we imagine the world. I also really like fictional cartography: maps of places that don’t exist, mashups of satellite photographs that create nonexistent geographies, and the artwork of the Argentinean artist Guillermo Kuitca, who uses maps “to get lost, not to get oriented.”
I wonder how many people I’ve looked at all my life and never seen.
Thank you to everyone who left me a message! The good news is exams are over and I’m still standing. I have to extend my self-imposed exile for a bit longer though - my friends decided we’re going on a road trip to the central coast. That’s the beach in the middle of winter. Oh, spontaneity, what are you.
Back in four days! I miss you all.