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#grief is for people
chrysalistudy · 1 month
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my tiny writing companion ✨
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funsimplethings · 2 months
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"People touch each others jewlery. It's a form of intimacy. The way we pop an earlobe towards us or tug at someone elses fingers. These gestures expose the dormant thief in all of us."
-Sloane Crosley Grief is For People
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wttnblog · 4 months
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10 February 2024 Book Releases
It’s nearly the shortest month of the year, but that isn’t stopping authors from publishing their exciting new work! Below is a list of the 10 books I’m most excited for that are debuting in February 2024, the month of love. Many of these are memoirs, nonfiction pieces, and short stories, which is a bit off brand from my usual recommendations, but I’m sure you’ll find these delightful…
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ionomycin · 26 days
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Grief
ref photo by @jawsstone
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takereveng3 · 13 days
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Reading a book about death. It is insanely good.
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theadmiringbog · 29 days
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Russell is my favorite person, the one who somehow sees me both as I want to be seen adn as I actually am, the one whose belief in me over the years has been the most earned (he is not my parent), the most pure (he is not my boyfriend), and the most forgiving (he is my friend).
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Find one of us, pull the string, you'd find the other.
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Still, there are those who will, unsolicited, tell me that I shouldn't blame myself. These people are idiots. Or else they are projecting their own losses.
And are also idiots.
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What I am experiencing is post-traumatic stress disorder. PTSD employs a math opposite to that of denial: Instead of your brain convincing itself nothing has happened, it convinces itself everything has and is still happening.
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Who are we to litigate the severity of someone else's pain? Suicide is often referred to as a permanent solution to a temporary problem.
No one here is arguing the first half of that.
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In the Barbara Pym novel Excellent Women, a character decides that an unsolicited declaration of love must be "something like a large white rabbit thrust into your arms and not knowing what to do with it."
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He gravitated toward underdogs. He would never put it in such sentimental terms, but he understood that real literature, like love, comes from a desire to be known.
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The reason I hadn't noticed that pieces of our world had been falling from the ceiling was because Russell had sheltered me from the debris. And by the time I did notice, our world was already gone.
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I'd spent my last day at Vintage escorting Alice Munro around town and, during a lull in the conversation, I asked her if people ever recognized her on the street. She thought for a moment and said: "On my better days, I think they do. On my worse days, I think they're thinking, 'What a sweet little old lady, I hope she doesn't die in front of me.'"
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Anger is a cousin of intelligence. If you are not revolted by certain things, you have no boundaries. If you have no boundaries, you have no self-knowledge. If you have no self-knowledge, you have no taste, and if you have no taste, why are you here? Russell taught me that.
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Perhaps this is the plainest definition of anxiety: mourning what isn't gone yet.
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Remember that time an author gave us acupuncture sessions? Yours passed without incident, but I didn't realize how still I was meant to stay. I turned my head halfway through. It felt like being punched in the spine.
"It's just pain leaving the body," the acupuncturist said. "You don't have to hold on to it. It's already happened."
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kammartinez · 2 months
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kamreadsandrecs · 2 months
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jupiterslibrary · 5 days
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one of the differences between good omens the show vs good omens the book that will always fuck me up is the post-bookshop fire scene. crowley goes from picking himself up, dusting himself off, accepting the loss of aziraphale and Just Driving Anyway to completely falling apart. i do get why people have gripes with it being changed so fundamentally, and i've thought about it a lot myself, but i've never been able to bring myself to get mad about it. i always circle back to how the book was written by two best friends. that drunken, wrecked, grief stricken scene was written in a post-pratchett world. he lost his best friend.
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sems-diarie · 8 months
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death is insane. wdym i’ll never see my grandmother again
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somnimagus · 6 months
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My page for @sheikahzine; about Impaz's duty to her village, empty of people and full of memories.
[id in alt text]
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funsimplethings · 2 months
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"Sometimes I was lonely, sometimes I was just alone. This is the kind of distinction people make after breakups. As if loneliness is what happens to you when you fail to be alone."
-Sloane Crosley
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metanarrates · 8 months
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nothing is more sexy to me in fiction than a time loop being thematically linked to the experience of grief and/or trauma. a constant reliving of loss and pain that becomes literal, an inability to move on, a cycle that always finds new ways to hurt... literally where would we be without it
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uncanny-tranny · 5 months
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Not a day goes by where I do not think about the advent of medicine like PrEP and wonder just what the people - especially queer people - who passed from HIV/AIDs during the AIDs crisis would think
And then, I read this survivor's testimony and it just makes me emotional. I think this is the closest answer we have. HIV has changed, and we must always remember the people who didn't see that change before it happened.
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cemeterything · 3 months
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there's truly nothing as crazymaking as the dynamic between a person paralysed by their own grief and the person who takes it upon themselves to break them free of that by taking their hurt onto themselves. it's inarguably not a healthy form of intimacy but it's such a unique and compelling bond. not to mention the fascinatingly irrational emotionally-driven psychological machinations that could drive someone to override their sense of self-preservation to martyr themselves in order to relieve someone else's pain in such a manner. you can destroy my possessions. hit me. say whatever cruel, unfair things are raging inside you. you need to let it out, so take it out on me. i can take it. i can't stand to see you hurting, beyond my reach, and not share in what you're feeling. so help me to understand. let me share the burden. i'll take whatever you give me. and when you're done, and you collapse in on yourself, the fire that's been eating away at you entirely spent, weeping with such shuddering sobs that they wrack your whole body on the way out, unable to stand unsupported, i will gather you in my arms and hold you tight, unable to resist placing myself between you and the rest of the world for just a little longer, and tell you i know. i know. i know. and it will be the truth.
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i think it would be funny if people occasionally arose from the dead. like if that was a real-life one-in-a-million but well-documented Thing That Sometimes Happens, and the entire legal system around death (laws on inheritance & marriage & murder etc) had to include caveats for the unlikely-but-scientifically-possible event that the dead person in question might spontaneously self-resurrect, even years or decades after death. it would raise so many inconvenient and absurd possibilities
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