- Lyudmilla Ignatenko, the wife of deceased firefighter Vasily Ignatenko, Voices from Chernobyl, by Svetlana Alexeivich (transl. Keith Gessen)
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let’s go on a walk (a love language)
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universal language
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I’m so happy I got this shot earlier holy shit
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South London Forever
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the closer i get to the appointment, the more anxious im getting. The double edged sword of health
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perfect representation of what it’s like to be bed bound because of chronic illness /disability.
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Hey guys I figured out how my school bullies knew I was weird
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muscle disorders are absurd sometimes. what do you mean i need to have tummy time like an infant or else i excessively lose my arm and back muscles. tummy time hurts.
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the way people can stay on their feet for as long as several HOURS truly baffles me, like i can't even sit up for that long without getting exhausted!
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i think disabled people should be able to explode ppl with our minds
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“What makes a poem a poem, finally, is that it is unparaphrasable. There is no other way to say exactly this; it exists only in its own body of language, only in these words. I may try to explain it or represent it in other terms, but then some element of its life will always be missing. It’s the same with painting. All I can say of still life must finally fall short; I may inventory, weigh, suggest, but I cannot circumscribe; some element of mystery will always be left out. What is missing is, precisely, its poetry.”
— Mark Doty, from Still Life With Oysters and Lemon
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i love you albums! i love you listening to the songs in the original order! i love you intros and outros! i love you interludes! i love you concept albums! i love you music!
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sometimes I forget using forearm crutches isn't common, like literally sometimes I forget that my crutches aren't just a part of my body they're something people see as sad or odd. but I love my crutches <3
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Susan Sontag, from As Consciousness is Harnessed to Flesh: Journals and Notebooks, 1964-1980; February 17th, 1970
Text ID: I don't feel guilt at being unsociable, though I may sometimes regret it because my loneliness is painful. But when I move into the world, it feels like a moral fall—like seeking love in a whorehouse.
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