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-despite everything, there is still love

@arthoesunshine/ @artsheila/ @daisies-on-a-cup/ @gayarsonist / @hjarta/ @yunawinter on twitter/ @bakwaaas/ @death-born-aphrodite/ anon on gentleearth/ @classicnymph on twitter

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kaveh akbar, 'calling a wolf a wolf' // doc luben, 'love letters or suicide notes' // @/nutnoce, tumblr // 'my body's made of crushed little stars', mitski // @/ojibwa, tumblr // 'spring', mary oliver

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I think I was just born with something dark and ugly inside of me. Always waiting to be found out.

planetarium - adrienne rich/@twoheadedfawnn/ugly, bitter, and true - suzanne rivecca/a burning hill - mitski/a hora da estrela- clarice lispector/ @100493503004422/sharp objects - gillian flynn

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{Quotes:Nitya prakash/Richard siken ,crush}

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Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena // Alain de Botton, Essays in Love // Eden Robinson, "Writing Prompts for the Broken-Hearted" // Chloe Liese, Always Only You // Anne Carson and Euripides, An Oresteia // Two—Sleeping At Last // Studio Bones, SK8 the Infinity // Trista Mateer, "is it okay to say this?" // @moodylilac // D. H. Lawrence, "The Rainbow"

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On Love and Community

@princes-heels // ? // @inkskinned // mitski, my love mine all mine//@littlespoonsokka // @boymiffy // @2aminhouston // ? // @theviralwitch // @noodle // @criterioncollectiongirl // @fatsoupy // ? // @mjalti // george saunders, congratulations, by the way// @jb-blunk // @ponchopeligroso // @headspace-hotel // everything, everywhere, all at once(2022) //@cheruib // ? // ? // @tordenvejr

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{Words by Anaïs Nin, from The Diary Of Anais Nin, Vol. 4 (1944-1947) / Cynthia Cruz from diagnosis,The glimmering room}

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@roach-works // Melissa Broder, "Problem Area" // Mary Oliver, "The Return" // @annavonsyfert // Koyoharu Gotouge, Demon Slayer // Haruki Murakami, Dance Dance Dance // David Levithan, How They Met and Other Stories // Tennessee Williams, Notebooks

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love + light

mary oliver // the anchor by bastille // pinterest // charles bukowski // sunlight by hozier // odysseus elytis // pinterest // alfonsina storni // need the sun to break by james bay // pinterest // amélie (2001) // butterflies rising // today is not real by the front bottoms // clarissa pinkola estés // pinterest // emerald star by lord huron // w. b. yeats // compass by the neighbourhood

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mitski, strawberry blonde / chen chen, from “when i grow up i want to be a list of further possibilities” / art by ellen he (@littleyellowleaves) / E.C., love freely / dermot bolger, from “ontario terrace, rathmines,” that which is suddenly precious

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happy to report that no one is holding hands like them.

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I’m thinking about Mahito’s great great uncle maintaining and preserving a peaceful and beautiful thing in a way that to an outside observer looks tedious and unimportant, hoping to pass the duty off to a successor but ultimately he cannot find one and dies with it.

I’m thinking about the specificity of the blocks being made and handled with care, not with malice or ill intent.

I’m thinking about Hayao Miyazaki, a bastion of beautiful 2d hand drawn animation who refuses to retire.

I’m thinking about a world where animation is so rarely made with love over profit and efficiency.

I’m thinking about how, though the old man didn’t see it, the next generation still hangs onto a piece of that beautiful, tedious thing and takes it with them because it feels important.

I’m thinking about Mahito being told he should forget, but no. He shouldn’t.

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If I didn't draw this fucking thing at least once I would probably die

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Studio Ghibli will be like. what if you had no control in the adventure you were forced on. what if it was up to you to stumble blindly through the world your ancestor failed to balance. what if he tried to force the responsibility of balancing it onto you. what if you were made to let go of you mother (again. you didn’t get to say goodbye this time either). what if you remembered everything you were meant to forget.

and what if joe hisaishi went all out on the soundtrack

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loneliness really does advance and strengthen like once it makes a home in you it's so hard to feel like your place is with others and it's so easy to get out of practice at sharing who you are because by that point being on your own is an integral aspect of your existence and there's just no way to explain that to anybody

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I had less than ten minutes to write this one

Carrying so much, my back just hurts all the time now. Spending all day away from home, I need to have everything with me. All the time. One of my best friends always borrows my phone charger, or my pencils and text markers. She doesn’t have the same habit as me, always complaining about something she forgot at home. She sorts through my backpack, looking for post its to use on the book she’s reading for her class the next day. But maybe, there somethings I don’t want her to see. Like a cheap notebook I started carrying around some weeks ago. It’s empty, for the thing I’m wanting to use it for, anyway. Only the first pages were used, for some of my research notes from when I was still at the history undergrad course studying about the Alexandria’s Lighthouse, one of the seven words of the ancient world. It’s a time capsule of sorts, and I want to use the rest of it as a writing practice journal, and the mere thought of having to go through the effort of explaining all of this to her makes me dread the moment she will eventually find the notebook, and jokingly poke me about it.

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Yes, this is about House of Leaves. The teacher just asked us to write about stairs, though.

There is a spiral staircase inside the house on Ash Tree Lane. One would think it’s a normal set of stair, inside of a completely common house. You would use it, step after step echoing as you go down to the basement, a totally normal layout for a house. But no. It is nothing like that. To get to the spiral staircase you need to enter a corridor. A man who used to live there called it the Five and a Half Minute Hallway, because that was the time it took to him to reach the end, the first time he tried to cross it.

Through this hallway you will probably stumble upon some doors and bifurcations. Do not enter any of them. Just keep walking, always in the same direction. Walk straight ahead, or at least do your best. I would not blame you for getting lost, it’s very hard to maintain your sense of direction intact after entering that place. This place.

Then, after some minutes if you’re lucky or some hours if you’re not, you will arrive at the cathedral. It’s colossal, maybe even bigger than a cathedral, but there’s not much I can do about the name. It is what it is, already decided. But the point here is that you need to look for the wall. It’s the only way to navigate the place, the black floor and ceiling so high it’s impossible to see it. And yet still so dark, that the darkness swallows you, and not even the more powerful and impressive lantern in the world could help see anything in this place. Even if you bottle the sun and bring it down here with you, it wouldn’t be enough. The sunlight would not see past your fingers hugging the bottle.

So going through the nearest wall, if you’re able to find it, it’s possible to walk to the right for a while, and again, if you’re lucky and the house decides that you can find your destiny, after some minutes you will sense a change on the ground beneath your feet and suddenly you’re descending the spiral staircase. Stop for a moment when it happens. Think very carefully about if you really want to go down this spiral. There is no going back from there.