estherkae - Tumblr blog

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Portraits of Afro-Palestinians from the Book “Guardians of the Mosque”

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journal entry from last summer

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bought a plant because i’ve been feeling restless all day and haven’t been able to stop writing.

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I stand among wind and dune and snow and feel the water still on both sides of me. The coming storm warns its presence, and I fall into a solitude as I trace myself going into its gut.

The sun goes down at a quarter to four. I have forced myself to think, in uncomfortable coercion, of the time and place he was; my fingers press the back of my throat and push it back and out and down. My rape is my own., and has always been mine and my doing; I have nursed it and called it my kin. Yet, I spit at my body, I forget its companion; it is not my own, it is not mine to call to any longer.

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Jane Grealy 1. Puppy with Stick, 2021 2. Legs, 2021

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weird filmm

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year old poetry…

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really old film from 2018 or 2019

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grey gardens

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pix i took from yesterday

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Chelsea DesAutels

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i’ve been trying to make art again mostly unsuccessfully. i can never pull myself away from writing long enough to get anything done.

anyways, here’s some writing that mostly doesn’t make sense to me and an art piece i’ve been working on for almost a year now (and still haven’t finished).

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I wanted to bike to work today but my bike tires are likely flattened with cold and unuse; breath does not come easy. I put my sweatshirt on backwards and contemplate keeping it that way for who’s to see or say anything but the cat in the kitchen waiting for treats or the dog asleep on the couch. I am watching days tick by and largely ignoring them but tasting and digesting them all in full. It’s February and everything is beautiful and tall. I sit waiting for March. I watch the moon, and it is round, and: now, it kisses your hair and cheeks and. Let me stand in it, please. I won’t stay too long.

I am in my poet mode and write more often than I speak or think. I hope that is alright; I hope you do not mind. The sunlight is sharp and soft and Oh! Do you know it and high noon?

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— Christopher Citro, from Right Like Yellow Along a Banana