#touching other worlds

[shisasan]

There’s something hypnotic about watching the trees swaying in the wind, as if nature is breathing, whispering secrets in a dance older than time. For a moment, you can almost feel the earth dreaming.

🜍 ⟡ ⟢

[valarinde]

Mi pare impossibile che quando c'è la luna noi si dorma nelle nostre case. Quando c'è la luna fuori dalla finestra chiusa succedono cose strane, e meravigliose. Ci sono cose che corrono navigano girano per conto loro mentre noi dormiamo. Non è strano questo? Non è strano anche che si possa dormire mentre la luna attraversa il cielo?

— La pietra lunare, Tommaso Landolfi (1939)

[inkskinned]

i keep thinking about how rfk said that autistic people "will never write a poem." i keep thinking about that, about if humanity is calculated on the back of old verse. how far we measure personhood is in baseball and stanza breaks.

i keep thinking - i have over 7k poems on here alone. language can be a special interest, after all. did you know the word autism comes almost direct from the greek word autos, meaning "self"? self-ism.

maybe he is right - i haven't really played baseball. i was a ballet dancer instead. and besides - my sister once accidentally hit me in the face with an aluminum bat. i'm not sure if the injury gives me half points. am i only a person in the dugout? hand in a mitt? swinging?

does softball count? does cricket? am i a person if i throw the ball to my dog. am i a person as long as the ball is in the air, or do i stop being a person as it rolls into the bushes. i took my girlfriend to fenway recently; was i a person in the sun, with my hands up, with the game laid out at my feet in a diamond. i felt like a person, but that was back in the summer, and i often feel my most person-like then.

am i more of a person because of the sheer number of things i've written? does quality matter, or is it quantity? i used to write entire books every summer in high school - i wasn't doing well. i felt the least like-a-person back then. but then - does any person feel human in high school?

in the library, ink on my skin, i feel personhood shutter at the edges of myself. actually, writing feels blissfully like not being myself. it feels birdlike; escaping into creation so my body dissolves and i survive only by muscle memory. i am not there, i am writing.

but who can deny the falconlike focus of warsan shire, the tenderness of mary oliver, the sheer skill of amanda gorman. those are poets. they are certainly human. you could line them up with the way their words have influenced us and measure their literary shadows like wings.

perhaps it was very assumptive of me to want to be a poet rather than "a [ label ] poet." i wanted the work to fill itself in, rather than be stained by what i am. i do not write in despite of my neurodivergence, i am just neurodivergent and writing.

does the poem have to be in english or can i send it through my palms into the coat of my dog. does the poem have to make sense. does the poem have to love you back.

if i break a glass, will the poem appear naturally? or is the act of breaking the glass human-enough. the shards of my life glittering out beneath me - do i have to write the poem, or is it self-evident in the pile of glass splinters? i cannot grasp this world the way other people can. regardless, i endeavor to touch - even the mess - very gently.

i broke my toenail against my coffee table recently. i released a bug outdoors. i made coffee. i walked my dog.

i didn't write a poem about any of these things.

something else, then. existing without humanity.

[skania]

I love that Ma Meilleure Ennemie plays during the Ekko/Powder dance, because that song is about Ekko and Jinx.

That dance is Ekko coming to terms with the fact that regardless of what name she goes by, regardless of all the pain they can cause each other in the wrong circumstances, he still loves her.

It's why the first thing he does after the dance is lament that he gave up on Jinx, and why Powder tells him that she has never seen him give up on anything.

It's also why when he gets back to Jinx, he makes the conscious choice of calling her Jinx instead of Powder.

Because he loves her, he never stopped loving her, he just stopped believing there was still good in her. But now, he chooses to believe in her, and it's that belief that gives Jinx the strength to walk away from that ledge and to give life one more chance.

[fracturedporcelaindoll]

Beautiful ~

[allimili]

Warm !

[c4rlandos]

im trying SO hard to be normal about this clip ?????????

[shisasan]

This feels like more than a memory. It’s like stepping into a forgotten dream, where the air hums with warmth and lingers with the taste of a soft bite, alive with something unspoken and intimate. Where reality dissolves into a dark, endless whisper, a calling you cannot explain, both familiar and mysterious. Like a home you’ve never really left behind.

hope it feels like a memory...

youtube link

[shisasan]

Let it wash through you... (sound on ~ feel it) Okinawa [沖縄], Japan Aleksandra Alba   IG: tanzdreamer

[valarinde]

— in cammino verso il linguaggio, m. heidegger

[nok-joke]

I like the headcanon of forehead touches being important in zaun culture, more so than they usually would be.

Forehead to forehead may as well be saying I love you, it's usually kept for family or life partners (platonic or romantic)

Forehead to cheek is kinda like a cat nuzzling you, it's still used when people are rather close, but it's lighter. A quick bonk

Forehead to shoulder/back/neck can be a thing of comfort or sometimes just a quick "I'm glad you're here" and is more common among close friends than others

Forehead to hand (usually palm, but hand in general) is an "I trust you to take care of me" or "I want comfort" type thing.

[doctorsiren]

I’ve been thinking about Miles as Serizawa quite a bit 😁

[starryeyed-seer]

me: I'm not a bat

Mr pages: (stuffing novels under its robe): I must abscond

[blitzthelizard]

wip

[me-sploh-rada-imas]

or maybe even kissing in public

[shisasan]

Daniel Rericha