outofthedarkwoods

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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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 You and the tree in your backyard come from a common ancestor. A billion and a half years ago, the two of you parted ways. But even now, after an immense journey in separate directions, that tree and you still share a quarter of your genes. ~The Overstory, Richard Powers

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Trees have long been trying to reach us. But they speak on frequencies too low for people to hear.

Richard Powers, The Overstory

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Probably a type of sin to leave the world having not done the thing that only you can do.

— Dylan O'Sullivan (November 30, 2024)

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Tamahahaki / tamabahaki / tamabouki decorated pertya broom for sweeping a silkworm-raising room on the first Day of the Rat of the New Year. 正月の初子の日に蚕室を掃くのに用いた「玉箒」

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The secret of being happy consists of knowing how to enjoy yourself—enjoy being at table, in bed, enjoy standing up, sitting down, enjoy the nearest ray of sunshine, the slightest bit of landscape: in other words, love everything. Thus it follows that to be happy you must already be so there's no bread without leavening.

Gustave Flaubert, from a notebook entry written c. September 1839

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via Birds Are Silent

© Steffen Lipski

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“My brother used to ask the birds to forgive him; that sounds senseless but it is right; for all is like the ocean, all things flow and touch each other; a disturbance in one place is felt at the other end of the world.”

— Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov  

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Cozy Loft by @traumhausprojekt.runie

Get Inspired, visit www.myhouseidea.com

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Ch💓

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““You pile up associations the way you pile up bricks. Memory itself is a form of architecture.””

— Louise Bourgeois, Louise Bourgeois: Memoria y Arquitectura: Museo Nacional Centro de Arte Reina Sofia, Madrid, 16 de Noviembre de 1999-14 de Febrero del 2000 (Published January 1st 1999 by Actar D) (via Alive on All Channels)

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“ON HOW TO PICK AND EAT POEMS Stop whatever it is you’re doing. Come down from the attic. Grab a bucket or a basket and head for light. That’s where the best poems grow, and in the dappled dark. Go slow. Watch out for thorns and bears. When you find a good bush, bow to it, or take off your shoes. Then pluck. This poem. That poem. Any poem. It should come off the stem easy, just a little tickle. No need to sniff first, judge the color, test the firmness. You’ll only know it’s ripe if you taste. So put a poem upon your lips. Chew its pulp. Let its juice spill over your tongue. Let your reading of it teach you what sort of creature you are and the nature of the ground you walk upon. Bring your whole life out loud to this one poem. Eating one poem can save you, if you’re hungry enough. When birds and deer beat you to your favorite patch, smile at their familiar appetite, and ramble on. Somewhere another crop waits for harvest. And if your eye should ever light upon a cluster of poems hanging on a single stem, cup your hand around them and pull, without greed or clinging. Some will slip off in your palm. None will go to waste. Take those you adore poem-picking when you can, even to the wild and hidden places. Reach into brambles for their sake, stain your skin some shade of red or blue, mash words against your teeth, for love. And always leave some poems within easy reach for the next picker, in kinship with the unknown. If you ever carry away more than you need, go on home to your kitchen, and make good jam. No need to rush, the poems will keep. Some will even taste better with age, a rich batch of preserves. Store up jars and jars of jam. Plenty for friends. Plenty for the long, howling winter. Plenty for strangers. Plenty for all the bread in this broken world.”

— “On How to Pick and Eat Poems” by Phyllis Cole-Dai. (via seemoreandmore)

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Julio Cortázar, Hopscotch (trans. Gregory Rabassa)

[Text ID: “As if you could pick in love, as if it were not a lightning bolt that splits your bones and leaves you staked out in the middle of the courtyard.”]

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George Seferis, from “The Harbor is Old.”

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From Nick Cave’s “Red Hand Files”

Should we separate the artist from the art? SHELLY, AMSTERDAM, HOLLAND What is your definition of hope? CARLOS, RECIFE, BRAZIL

Dear Shelly and Carlos,

I don’t think we can separate the art from the artist, nor should we need to. I think we can look at a piece of art as the transformed or redeemed aspect of an artist, and marvel at the miraculous journey that the work of art has taken to arrive at the better part of the artist’s nature. Perhaps beauty can be measured by the distance it has travelled to come into being.

That bad people make good art is a cause for hope. To be human is to transgress, of that we can be sure, yet we all have the opportunity for redemption, to rise above the more lamentable parts of our nature, to do good in spite of ourselves, to make beauty from the unbeautiful, and to have the courage to present our better selves to the world.

The moon is high and yellow in the sky outside my window. It is a display of sublime beauty. It is also a cry for mercy — that this world is worth saving. Mostly, though, it is a defiant articulation of hope that, despite the state of the world, the moon continues to shine. Hope too resides in a gesture of kindness from one broken individual to another or, indeed, we can find it in a work of art that comes from the hand of a wrongdoer. These expressions of transcendence, of betterment, remind us that there is good in most things, rarely only evil. Once we awaken to this fact, we begin to see goodness everywhere, and this can go some way in setting right the current narrative that humans are shit and the world is fucked.

Love, Nick

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Let yourself fall. Learn to observe snakes. Plant impossible gardens Let someone dangerous in for tea. Make small Signs that say “yes” and spread them all over your house. Become a friend of freedom and uncertainty. Look forward to dreaming. Cry at the movies. Swing as high as you can on a swing at moonlight. Maintain different moods. Refuse to be “responsible”. DO IT OUT OF LOVE. Take a lot of naps. Pass on money. Do it now. The money will follow. Laugh a lot. Bathe in the moonlight. Dream wild, imaginative dreams. Draw on the walls. Read every day. Imagine you are enchanted. Giggle with children. Listen to old people. Open yourself. Dive in. Be free. Praise Yourself. Let go of fear. Play with everything. Preserve the child in you. You are innocent. Build a castle of covers Get wet. Hug trees. Write love letters.

Joseph Beuys.