at-the-moment

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“Blessing of the Polar Bears” Chholing Taha, Cree

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Susan Dobson, Viewfinder, Sanderson Tropical Field Camera Half Plate, circa 1920, 2014 © Susan Dobson

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I go where I love and where I am loved, into the snow; I go to the things I love with no thought of duty or pity

H.D. The Flowering of the Rod (via smakka--bagms)

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in the village of winter, gleaming gold with uncertainty she comes on sweet waters with her gathered arms of attar dogwood & coriander I fall in love with the heaving of dusk the far mountain beveled by light & the tender eye of moon light-foraging she like a shadow she dissolves amongst the wheat & lonely poplar O gods, what is it that escapes me? she appears, and disappears casual as clavicle as capricious, tonight I cannot bear the trees’ emptiness the lily has a composed, but rueful face it is the season, crows cull & scorn she says, this city is built for falling can you fathom this disappointment? meanwhile, silver bells bury their song it is the end of the fourth hour of the night a glow gnaws the boundaries this, the last time I speak of you

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Some of us are born chasing poetry.

Sarah Kay, from “Lightning” in No Matter the Wreckage (via 7-weeks)

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Let it fall by Soaring Anchor Designs

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Artist Daniel Rarela creates “Letter from a Birmingham Jail” memes to stop people from whitewashing MLK

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Enoki Toshiyuki

Story Teller. 1993, acrylic, ink, silver and gold leaf on canvas, 72.2 x 60.6 cm

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inheritance

in my chest, a river of questions. are those lashes made of plastic, and if not why don't they tremble when i touch them. what did you mean when you said you weren't good enough. did you want me or her. could i have dug you a garden of poems would that have kept you here. did you send the angel-woman. did you feel anything. what did you know when the pavement cradled you. do you love me. are you here.

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Byron Burford (d. 2011) “The best guy in Iowa City is painter Byron Burford.” -Kurt Vonnegurt

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Joe Bova, “Ghost Cat”

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Jeremy Mann

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Gerald Reisinger

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Reflections of But & And, courtesy of conversations with Cristin.

Maria Popova, in her writing on Grace Paley and Ms Paley’s thoughts on aging, writes: Perhaps the greatest perplexity of aging is how to fill with gentleness the void between who we feel we are on the inside and who our culture tells us is staring back from that mirror. Which I find a lovely thing to reflect on itself, but also am particularly drawn to the idea that sprouts out of the words I extracted & posted above.

Previous months here

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I try to live normally, but nothing is normal. I am living under water. I drift like plankton, sustained by sunlight, moved by the tide. From my room, I hear my parents talking on the phone to their parents. Between muffled sentences, I hear my name surface to the top of the conversation over and over. They take turns repeating their version of my story like a Greek chorus. This is their truth. The word “plankton” comes from the ancient Greek word meaning, drifter or wanderer.

Plankton (A Body Of Stars) by Charlotte O’Brien. (via therumpus)

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Once privacy’s been completely dismantled, Google should start a service that emails you every morning with a brief account of what you did in other people’s dreams the night before.