aleynakaterina

[aleynakaterina]

Moonlight Magic

[aleynakaterina]

“I don’t know what living a balanced life feels like. When I am sad, I don’t cry, I pour. When I am happy, I don’t smile, I glow. When I am angry, I don’t yell, I burn. The good thing about feeling in extremes, is when I love, I give them wings. But perhaps that isn’t such a good thing, cause they always tend to leave and you should see me, when my heart is broken. I don’t grieve, I shatter.”

— Rupi Kaur, Milk and Honey

[aleynakaterina]

“Recently, a friend of mine told me that she felt guilty that she hadn’t accomplished more during the last year of the pandemic. Now, I’ve heard that a few times. And I have a feeling we’re gonna be hearing that more and more.”

The Amber Ruffin Show (May 21, 2021)

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[aleynakaterina]

Lucille Clifton, from The Book of Light; “Climbing”

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Finale - Stephanie Garber

[aleynakaterina]

i’m thinking tonight about masterpieces. michelangelo looked at the sixtine chapel and saw; nothing to preserve. virgil wanted his aenid burned and forgotten; only to be saved at the behest of an emperor who thought it flattery. kafka instructed his friend to burn everything he’d ever written - too personal was it, too unfinished.

they were ignored.

instead, their work was taken and held and published and thrown to be gawked at. instead, an emperor, a pope, a friend, took from within the cavities of them their choices; their art.

tumblr rolls out post+. twitter rolls out tip jars. youtube takes half of what creators earn. on social media, there is a ko-fi or a patreon and a polished face in every bio. i show my poems to my mother and she asks if I will publish them before she says anything else. emily dickinson instructed her sister to burn her poetry.

her sister did not listen.

we are a community, says tumblr, we should give back to creators. my last poem had 50 notes. six of those were reblogs that weren’t mine. i lie in bed at 2am and stare at my bright phone screen and the way netflix’s library grows thinner and thinner. the first ad on tumblr that i can reblog is for amazon. amazon takes more than half of what authors earn.

kafka’s friend took barely finished work and hammered it into structure. he is the only reason we know of him.

my father wrote a book and a play when I was barely big enough to reach his knees. when i try to talk to him about writing, he shrugs.

no one wanted to publish it, he says. so i don’t write anymore.

i am filled with poems I have never published, books I haven’t written. There are little snippets of them scattered throughout my life. I link to my ko-fi on my tumblr.

-

asked capitalism of the artist: what is art, if not for consumption? who does art benefit, if it is not consumed? why create at all if you do not market it? who are you, frothing at the mouth about someone publishing someone else’s poems? who are you to hate your magnum opus? what is art, if not in relation to its reception? if no one sees it, how is it art?

said the artist, baring their teeth: it’s mine.

[aleynakaterina]

Marie Howe, from What the Living Do

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instagram | krissmacd

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over coffee with my mom this morning: “sometimes we hesitate to invite people into our life because we feel like our space isn’t good enough yet. things are a little messy, or our place settings don’t match, or our situation isn’t quite what we want it to be. don’t let that stop you. invite people in anyway.”

[aleynakaterina]

Remain grounded -nicole addison

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My good people, I give you: Amatonormativity.

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BEARS BEARS BEARS BEARS BEARS BEARS

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So.

Another 751 unmarked graves were found at a Saskatchewan residential school.

Seven hundred fifty one.

[aleynakaterina]

anyway! the banana bread vendor at the farmers market is called "better than sex" but this year they changed it to "almost better than sex" which means the bread is just worse this year or girlie got some good dick since last summer