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I mean, I am trying to make my way through something, toward something. In the meantime my world does not know whether to expand or contract, as if I am straining to peer into a tiny telescope measured in nanometers. Instead of it being a comfort to have a world so small and all mine, it feels like I’ve forgotten something, like I’ve been forgotten.
Jennifer S. Cheng
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"I have always felt ashamed at being witnessed in the act of wanting something I could not have."
— Jennifer S. Cheng
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desire is suffering
Half-light: Collected Poems 1965-2016; ‘Dream Reveals in Neon the Great Addictions, Frank Bidart ( @wahabibi ) | Dante and Virgil in Hell, William-Adolphe Bouguereau | Vestiges, Ángel García | Blasphemia, Eliran Kantor | So We Must Meet Apart, Jennifer S. Cheng ( @yoursoethereal ) | Prigione di Lacrime, Roberto Ferri | Diary of a Philosophy Student: Volume 2, 1928-9; Sunday, November 4th, Simone de Beauvoir ( @theoptia ) | Ludwig Drahosch | War of the Foxes, Richard Siken ( @elfreys )
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Your book, with its waiting boat
& sea. Your book, a reminder of how
much more night I could
wade into.
— Chen Chen, from "The School of Your Book / Letter to Jennifer S. Cheng," Your Emergency Contact Has Experienced an Emergency
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The truth is I often feel awash in the marginalia of my own life. The idea has followed me around for its plainness: an ongoing audio diary of (( )). A record of ephemera, our most habitual wrinkles of air. Like John Cage, I am aware that inside silence are merely the sounds we ignore—am I placating myself when I say those non-sounds carry a meaningful soundness of their own?
Jennifer S. Cheng
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