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“Calling all agents” and flipping pages, as usual, turning pages, sifting through pages, tuning in and out and smile and turn a page. what’s the age of that book in the corner? turn the page, in the upper right hand corner you’ll see a page number. add all them up and those are your pages in the book and if you read them all you might know what the pages said, but you also might not know still and then you’ll read it again. Rereading them and returning the pages and resifting through and maybe the second time you’ll get it. but you might not— not— not— stop and just turn the page of that book, it’s numbered, you know? Count all the pages and then read them and you might know what they said; sad brained poet “like all lovers and sad people, I am a poet” said Allen Ginsburg. Reactionary caution might save your life strife and everything nice. Beauty is nice and beauty is complicated, complex beauty is especially beautiful because it has to coordinate and getting the trick of it is hard, but a beauty thing. You beautiful thing with beautiful thoughts… I love beautiful thoughts, they run and go and they’re so complex. 
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Finding the books of
the poetry of
a dead girl, I imagine,
is a lot like finding her brain
scattered all about the pages.
all splattered out of her
and nearly incomprehensible.
Finding the books of
the poetry of
a dead girl, I imagine,
is a lot like hearing echoes
of her screams and laughs.
is like wondering how you
missed them the first time.
Finding the books of
the poetry of
a dead girl, I imagine,
is a lot a like finding her
asleep-- unaware of you--
yet you see her dreams
play out above her head
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this whole living business in no delightful thing.
yes, there are birds and trees and purple skies,
but the boughs of the willows still weep.
the flowers all die in winter
and we are left with the bare, harsh land.
run and hide as we like, but the willows still weep.
i crawled inside my own chest to meet that girl.
i searched a long while before i found her.
she had hair that hung as though from the boughs of the willows that weep.
when i emerged, i was saddened to find
that all the birds and trees and purple skies
had gone to sit beneath the willows and weep.
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and if I were to ask you
what you were thinking of,
would you voice a nagging question
or name something you love?
is it nouns that cloud your mind,
or is it images divine?
quandaries so complex
an answer you should never find?
if I asked you what you thought
how fast could you respond?
have you got to search out the answer,
or is there at the tip of your tongue?
tell me of all your favorite fantasies,
the ones of Sirens out at sea.
or are your ideas more simple?
like those of rotting trees?
do you have ideas of noble things,
perhaps of ladies, lords, and knights?
are they more outlandish ones,
filled with elves and nymphs and sprites?
whatever your ideas may be,
plain, ever-changing, or mysteries,
i find them all quite intriguing and
i'd like you to share with me.
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"Never trouble trouble until trouble troubles you."
-Ami McKay
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May your wide petals bloom and stretch and bask in the sun.
May they fall and decay once this day is done.
May they rot and touch the roots of flowers to come.
May you be reborn and grow and become another someone.
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One time Oscar Wilde said something about freedom and books and cats and being completely happy and I agree
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"You threw me to the crows, but it turns out I prefer them to you."
"Circe" by Madeline Miller
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A ll of everything no longer matters or
P ertains to my so called dreams which
A re now fuzzy, faded and gray,
T ainted by the process of aging and
H indered by the realities of our society in which
E very one must dim their creativity;
T herefore my colorful thoughts are merely
I nkblots on a blank canvas, making me
C onfused and uninspired by my own work.
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i want to see the beauty of the last few centuries.
i want to be oblivious to the horrors of today.
i'd like to live in a sea of gold and earl grey tea.
i want to wear pearls and inspire young girls
to write novels of mystery.
i want to waltz and read
and cure the world of need.
but i live in a time where most things are a crime.
creativity no longer pays, humanity slowly decays.
without art the world falls apart,
but maybe that's just what we need
to revive the beauty from the last century.
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I'm back with nothing much to say other than keep reading. Ive been slacking off and honestly I miss being immersed in different worlds and lives.
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-Solomé by Oscar Wilde
I respect Wilde so much for bringing up this point in a not-so-subtle manner. This play was written in the late 1800s, yet Oscar Wilde was able to see the oversexualization of the female existence.
Perhaps he saw this in his own life, or read about it in literature (most things written by men a century before Wilde's time only described women in a sexual or physical light; by how appealing or unappealing they were to the male eye). Either way, he obviously took some offense from it and had the nerve to write about it in a time when the sexualization was still very much acceptable.
Furthermore, he gave a woman a voice on the matter. This was on par for his time, though. With all the bold female writers giving female characters voices and dynamic psyches (Dickinson, Austen, the Brontë sisters, etc), he was able to follow suit and allow a woman in his play to correct a man for oversexualization of female demeanor.
Overrall, I much appreciate his avocation for women and have much more respect for such a talented playwright.
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PLEASE STOP SCROLLING, TAKE A MOMENT TO READ
My name is Quincy, my friend Noah and I require assistance in reaching our goals on GoFundMe. Neither of our families will fund us. I'll go into some detail, but please read the campaigns linked at the bottom
Noah needs the money for top surgery because his insurance doesn't cover it and his parents aren't looking to help him. Getting top surgery would improve his mental health and quality of life by a lot.
I need the money to move out because my mother is abusive and is negatively affecting my mental health to a very severe point. Obviously she isn't looking to help me with this.
It would mean the world to me if you helped us reach our goals so we can both live well. Even if you don't donate, please repost this and share it with your family and friends so that someone can.
Both campaigns are listed in my Linktree.
Thank you in advance❤
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Reading about philosophy sometimes makes me forget that life is not that serious. I get so stressed and worked up about what I should try to accomplish in life, what will happen to me after death, whether it is worth it to be kind when I dont feel like it. It's exhausting and leaves me completely paralyzed, unable to do basic things like dress, shower, and eat.
Then I read things like Dickinson, Austen, and even Brontë. Their subtle humors and candid revelations remind me life does not have to be that stressful, and if you can't bear the thought of it then don't think about it! Reading one of Emily Dickinson's poems, she said "life is but life/ death is but death/ and these feelings are just that". Her emphasis on the fact that it's just life reminds me that it is not something that needs to be dreaded or requires solving. One breath in and the next breath out and you're doing it right.
The ability of literature to stop the onset of a panic attack astounds me.
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