mercuryismygenius

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Vladimir Stepanov

An old man and pigeons, 1950's

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Famous

by Naomi Shihab Nye

The river is famous to the fish.

The loud voice is famous to silence, which knew it would inherit the earth before anybody said so.

The cat sleeping on the fence is famous to the birds watching him from the birdhouse.

The tear is famous, briefly, to the cheek.

The idea you carry close to your bosom is famous to your bosom.

The boot is famous to the earth, more famous than the dress shoe, which is famous only to floors.

The bent photograph is famous to the one who carries it and not at all famous to the one who is pictured.

I want to be famous to shuffling men who smile while crossing streets, sticky children in grocery lines, famous as the one who smiled back.

I want to be famous in the way a pulley is famous, or a buttonhole, not because it did anything spectacular, but because it never forgot what it could do.

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Woman Playing Solitaire from the Kitchen Table Series, Carrie Mae Weems, 1990

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If this doesn't wake them up, nothing will, because it means they aren't smart enough to know why he's going after the Library of Congress.

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People who ban books:

A. Don’t read

B. Fear people who do

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reblogging for "mistaking the bandage for the wound"

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Southwark, London, Photo by James Jarché, 1930s

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John Loengard. New York. 1962

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Someday I'll Love Ocean Vuong

by Ocean Vuong

After Frank O’Hara / After Roger Reeves

Ocean, don’t be afraid. The end of the road is so far ahead it is already behind us. Don’t worry. Your father is only your father until one of you forgets. Like how the spine won’t remember its wings no matter how many times our knees kiss the pavement. Ocean, are you listening? The most beautiful part of your body is wherever your mother’s shadow falls. Here’s the house with childhood whittled down to a single red tripwire. Don’t worry. Just call it horizon & you’ll never reach it. Here’s today. Jump. I promise it’s not a lifeboat. Here’s the man whose arms are wide enough to gather your leaving. & here the moment, just after the lights go out, when you can still see the faint torch between his legs. How you use it again & again to find your own hands. You asked for a second chance & are given a mouth to empty into. Don’t be afraid, the gunfire is only the sound of people trying to live a little longer. Ocean. Ocean, get up. The most beautiful part of your body is where it’s headed. & remember, loneliness is still time spent with the world. Here’s the room with everyone in it. Your dead friends passing through you like wind through a wind chime. Here’s a desk with the gimp leg & a brick to make it last. Yes, here’s a room so warm & blood-close, I swear, you will wake — & mistake these walls for skin.

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Otho Lloyd. Carrer Triangle, Barcelona, 1946

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Lower Manhattan, Dr. Drahomír Josef Růžička, 1936

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"The short ruling, which can be read in full hear, requires the following actions:

The directive in section two of Executive Order 14238 shall be enjoined as it pertains to the IMLS, as well as the Minority Business Development Agency (MBDA) and and Federal Mediation and Conciliation Services (FMCS). This means that the demand to whittle these agencies down to the most basic functions shall not continue.

Any actions taken to carry out the demands of that Executive Order as they pertain to those three above agencies must be reversed.

No further actions can be taken upon the agencies listed above.

Defendants are to hire back employees who were terminated as a result of this Executive Order.

Money promised via grants must be returned to those who’ve earned them, with the only exceptions being that the grant recipients have failed to meet their end of their agreements.

Previously withheld funds from grant recipients must be disbursed.

The defendants have seven days to tell the court how they’re going about meeting the requirements of the decision or explain where and how they are not abiding by the decision."

This is why you don't comply in advance: instead, you look them in the eye, gather your resources, allies, and options, and say, "fuck you, make me."

They're just bullies. Stand up to them.

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i am worth protecting! 💪

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"President Donald Trump abruptly fired Librarian of Congress Carla Hayden as the White House continues to purge the federal government of those perceived to oppose the president and his agenda.

"Hayden was notified in an email late Thursday from the White House’s Presidential Personnel Office, according to an email obtained by The Associated Press. Confirmed by the Senate to the job in 2016, Hayden was the first woman and the first African American to be librarian of Congress.

"'Carla,' the email began. 'On behalf of President Donald J. Trump, I am writing to inform you that your position as the Librarian of Congress is terminated effective immediately. Thank you for your service.' A spokesperson for the Library of Congress confirmed that the White House told Hayden she was dismissed.

"Hayden, whose 10-year term was set to expire next year, had come under backlash from a conservative advocacy group that had vowed to root out those standing in the way of Trump’s agenda. The group, American Accountability Foundation, accused her and other library leaders of promoting children’s books with 'radical' content and literary material authored by Trump opponents.

"'The current #LibrarianOfCongress Carla Hayden is woke, anti-Trump, and promotes trans-ing kids,' AAF said on its X account earlier Thursday, just hours before the firing was made public. 'It’s time to get her OUT and hire a new guy for the job!''"

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Devotion

by Ocean Vuong

Instead, the year begins with my knees scraping hardwood another man leaving into my throat. Fresh snow crackling on the window, each flake a letter from an alphabet I’ve shut out for good. Because the difference between prayer & mercy is how you move the tongue. I press mine to the navel’s familiar whorl, molasses threads descending toward devotion. And there’s nothing more holy than holding a man’s heartbeat between your teeth, sharpened with too much air. This mouth the last entry into January, silenced with fresh snow crackling on the window. And so what–if my feathers are burning. I never asked for flight. Only to feel this fully, this entire, the way snow touched bare skin and is, suddenly, snow no longer.

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In Search of Cinderella

by Shel Silverstein

From dusk to dawn, From town to town, Without a single clue, I seek the tender, slender foot To fit this crystal shoe. From dusk to dawn, I try it on Each damsel that I meet. And I still love her so, but oh, I’ve started hating feet.