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#lit.
saltoftheseas · 7 months
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By Keaton St. James (@/boykeats)
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gauwaine · 8 months
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Because you are right, this moonlit body tells you; this is indeed a love story. Down to the blade-dented bone.
Simon Jimenez, The Spear Cuts Through Water.
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frankensteincest · 6 months
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par for the course, really. like yeah ofc he did all that.
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padawan-historian · 4 months
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“No hour is ever eternity, but it has its right to weep.”
~ Zora Neale Hurston
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designrbysupreme · 7 days
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♾ | DESIGNR BY SUPREME
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orgasmic-garlic · 9 months
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"We know where the future is. It’s in front of us. Right? It lies before us -a great future lies before us- we stride forward confidently into it, every commencement, every election year. And we know where the past is. Behind us, right? So that we have to turn around to see it, and that interrupts our progress ever forward into the future, so we don’t much like to do it.
It seems the Quechua-speaking peoples of the Andes see all this rather differently. They figure that because the past is what you know, you can see it - it’s in front of you, under your nose. This is a mode of perception rather than action, of awareness rather than progress. Since they’re quite logical as we are, they say that the future lies behind - behind your back, over your shoulder. The future is what you can’t see, unless you turn around and kind of snatch a glimpse. And then sometimes you wish you hadn’t, because you’ve glimpsed what’s sneaking up on you from behind … So, as we drag the Andean peoples into our world of progress, pollution, soap operas, and satellites, they are coming backwards - looking over their shoulders to find out where they’re going."
-Ursula K. Le Guin, Science Fiction and the Future
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steppesliver · 25 days
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🫠🫠🫠🫠
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Ah! the infinite egotism of adolescence, the studious optimism: how the world was full of flowers that summer! Airs and forms dying... --A choir to calm impotence and absence! A choir of glasses, of nocturnal melodies... Quickly, indeed, the nerves take up the chase.
Arthur Rimbaud.
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blvqebird · 2 years
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It's as if you see things and you do not see them. As if you are seeking what you do not see in what you see.
-Adnois tr. By Khaled Mattawa, Selected Poems
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gauwaine · 8 months
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"I thought this was a love story," you say. ...this thought—that maybe the definition of what a love story is could be stretched to include all that has up till now taken place. You say it like an apology. Like it is a thing to be apologized for. A runaway child, charging through the porcelain shelves: I thought this was a love story. I had hoped this was a love story. You say it with shame, embarrassed at having said it, wishing you could take it back. You say it, worried that you have betrayed some secret part of yourself that does not wish to be exposed—an old gremlin in you, sick and yearning. You say it with hope. Timid and without conviction. The hope of someone who knows they are about to wake from a dream to a reality they do not understand. The pub awaits, as does your empty bed. I thought this was a love story.
Simon Jimenez, The Spear Cuts Through Water.
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emotionalwords · 3 months
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i’m such a “i want your attention” but “won’t bother you” kinda person
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frankensteincest · 3 months
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idec about the original atla cartoon but its adaptations really speak to the deterioration of mainstream writing. the film being bad can be explained as M. Night Shyamalan doing his thing, but every piece of news about the show feels designed to make us all despair at this new method of discourse-poisoned ‘storytelling’.
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soracities · 2 months
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"Absolutely no one comes to save us but us."
Ismatu Gwendolyn, "you've been traumatized into hating reading (and it makes you easier to oppress)", from Threadings, on Substack [ID'd]
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wedarkacademia · 4 months
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- Evelyn Waugh, from Brideshead Revisited (1945)
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orgasmic-garlic · 9 months
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"And later, hiding in the latrine from the black boys, I'd take a look at my own self in the mirror and wonder how it was possible that anybody could manage such an enormous thing as being what he was. There'd be my face in the mirror, dark and hard with big, high cheekbones like the cheek underneath them had been hacked out with a hatchet, eyes all black and hard and mean-looking, just like Papa's eyes or the eyes of all those tough, mean-looking Indians you see on TV, and I'd think, That ain't me, that ain't my face. It wasn't even me when I was trying to be that face. I wasn't even really me then; I was just being the way I looked, the way people wanted. It don't seem like I ever have been me. How can McMurphy be what he is?"
Ken Kesey, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest
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steppesliver · 2 months
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sharp objects by gillian flynn
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