luthienne

[luthienne]

Labi Siffre - “Bless the Telephone”

[luthienne]

These days, all I talk about and think about is the cognitive dissonance required to move through the world. Increasingly, I struggle to disentangle my many selves, to get on with the day. All my selves weep often. I try to have grace. I tell my friends that I’m no longer sure how anyone just drifts through the days, the months, without acknowledging the horrors. I imagine what it must be like to be able to turn off the parts of the world that unsettle you. It must feel like existing in an animated universe that adheres to cartoon physics: you fall from an inconceivable height and, landing, a cloud of dust billows up from the ground, but then you shake yourself off and keep moving.

Hanif Abdurraqib, from Zohran Mamdani and Mahmoud Khalil are in on the Joke

[luthienne]

A kilogram of flour in Gaza costs more than 100 shekels, equivalent to $30, and is unavailable. A 25-kilogram bag of flour costs more than $1,200, and with a 50% commission, the price of a bag of flour becomes $2,400.

Your donation helps us provide flour.

[luthienne]

hey everything that has ever left me, can you return back to me one final time

[luthienne]

“If you are not the free person you want to be you must find a place to tell the truth about that. To tell how things go for you. Candor is like a skein being produced inside the belly day after day, it has to get itself woven out somewhere. You could whisper down a well. You could write a letter and keep it in a drawer. You could inscribe a curse on a ribbon of lead and bury it in the ground to lie unread for thousands of years. The point is not to find a reader, the point is the telling itself. Consider a person standing alone in a room. The house is silent. She is looking down at a piece of paper. Nothing else exists. All her veins go down into this paper. She takes her pen and writes on it some marks no one else will ever see, she bestows on it a kind of surplus, she tops it off with a gesture as private and accurate as her own name.”

— Anne Carson, “Could 1,” from Candor

[luthienne]

your original photos give me hope and consolation 🩷🩷 like the sunset light one that you recently posted

anon i am holding your heart in my heart <333

[luthienne]

Fixed for the rest of his days on why, the question that asks itself of everything: the empty hemisphere of bed, the dreams in which she doesn’t yet know of her death, the odes he composes that still use the present tense. There must be some reason. If he stares long enough at his last image of her, already disintegrating at her edges, he will glimpse a material truth. For example: did some complicated equation describe her dance behind him, inaudible music dictating each step and rest? At the end of the song, was it written in the score that she must disappear? He strains to remember, over and over, to pick out a pattern from the chaos, and always, when he thinks he might finally have it, just as he turns toward it, it slips like a hand from his grasp.

Mirabella Mitchell, The “Hidden Variable” Theory of Orpheus and Eurydice

[luthienne]

in light of the recent events maybe consider a donation to the Navajo Water Project if you can afford it

[luthienne]

agonizing over all the time you wasted or lost is useless. it’s gone now. you survived in the only way you knew how. doesn’t your survival deserve some recognition too?

[luthienne]

David Wright: If I can quote you at yourself, you’ve talked about how literature can hold open human wounds, the wounds of history, how poetry can allow us to see the ruptures in the language, the ruptures in the self, the ruptures in the culture that occur in situations of extremity. It strikes me that the story you were telling about the prison and going to the barrio and being in that room [during her time in El Salvador as a human rights advocates, at the beginning of the Salvadoran Civil War]. That’s not a story you’ve allowed to heal over in any way. It’s a wound that’s supposed to be held open in some way. Carolyn Forché: Yes. Because I don’t want to lose what I learned there. And I don’t want to move on. And I don’t want closure. And I don’t want to recover. Because I don’t want to lose what happened to me. I don’t want that to be changed back. I don’t want to return to the obliviousness that I had participated in before that. You have to hold things open in order to nurture whatever new awareness was born there.

— from “Assembling Community: A Conversation with Carolyn Forché” by David Wright

[luthienne]

help amany’s family escape gaza’s hardships — hi all, amany is the dear friend of one of my friends. they have been trying to organize her escape with her family for over a year now but it is so difficult and so expensive. amany, her husband, and their two children have been displaced several times now. her daughter has a severe case of hepatitis and no access to medical treatment. they have lost their home and have narrowly escaped being killed by israeli airstrikes. they are still only at $13,809/45,000 and even the smallest donations help them get a little closer to safety. here is a youtube video that amany made about a year ago and there is more information about her family in the gofundme link. please donate and share <3

[luthienne]

i am nooooot locked the fuck in. im locked the fuck out. call the locksmith

[luthienne]

Desires are already memories.

Italo Calvino, Invisible Cities (trans. William Weaver)

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also the sunset light was back at it again in my apartment last night

[luthienne]

so it turns out that it only takes stepping on a centipede once with your bare feet in your apartment to develop a complex about stepping on centipedes in your apartment

[luthienne]

lisa peterson and denis o’hare, an iliad

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One day you’ll have whatever it is you’re now so confusedly seeking. That kind of calm that comes from knowing oneself and others. But you can’t rush the arrival of that state of mind. There are things you only learn when no one teaches them. And that’s how it is with life. There’s even more beauty in discovering it for yourself, in spite of the suffering.

Clarice Lispector, from "Gertrudes Asks for Advice" in The Complete Stories