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whatlightdoes · 3 years
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Simone Weil
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kamazen · 4 years
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This post is for you @trapezeswingerblog
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whatlightdoes · 3 years
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You've got your gift . . .
And you've got what it costs.
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whatlightdoes · 2 years
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Baby (Little Spice) outside, playing under the lawn furniture.
Photo: T. Hall Sony a7rii, Polskie Zakłady Optyczne (Polish Optical Works) Amar f4.5/105mm Enlarging Lens from 1960s or 70s.
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whatlightdoes · 3 years
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“Time tells me what I am. I change and I am the same. / I empty myself of my life and my life remains.”
— Mark Strand, from “The Remains,” Darker: Poems (Atheneum, 1971)
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whatlightdoes · 3 years
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I am writing with my burnt hand about the nature of fire.
— Ingeborg Bachmann 
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whatlightdoes · 3 years
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My son’s art project this week.
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whatlightdoes · 3 years
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“Strangeness is a necessary ingredient in beauty.” ― Charles Baudelaire
T. Hall Dark Flower Series
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whatlightdoes · 2 years
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Zinnias and basil in the backyard at night
Photo: T. Hall Sony a7rii, Lentar 135mm f2.8
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whatlightdoes · 3 years
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Baby has grown a lot since we got her as a kitten in July.
Photo: T. Hall Sony a7rii, Perfex 90 enlarging lens adapted with helicoid
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whatlightdoes · 3 years
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Beauty only happens once.
Jacques Derrida
Photo: T. Hall Sony a7rii, Helios 44-2
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whatlightdoes · 3 years
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"The only way to deal with an unfree world is to become so absolutely free that your very existence is an act of rebellion."
--Albert Camus
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I remember being 12 years old, on a boat with others who were actively fishing, drinking, and getting farmer’s tans in their T-shirts. Then there was me: hunkered down under the awning of the pontoon boat with my copy of The Stranger. I remember my stepfather calling me a strange child as he chugged his beer and reeled in a largemouth bass. How I had wished then that Albert Camus were my father. (In truth, that any one else were my father.) And so I spent a great deal of my early life embedded in a physical reality vastly different from my interior landscape—and thus at a young age came to know intimately the solitude of liminal spaces.
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whatlightdoes · 3 years
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“How many times can summer turn to fall in one life?” ― Charles Wright
T. Hall Dark Flower Series
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whatlightdoes · 3 years
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Every beautiful poem is an act of resistance.
—Mahmoud Darwish
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whatlightdoes · 3 years
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Tomorrow they’ll dress me in ash for the sunrise, they’ll fill my mouth with flowers. I’ll learn to sleep inside the memory of a wall, on the breath of a dreaming animal.
Alejandra Pizarnik, from Shadow from Days to Come
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whatlightdoes · 3 years
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First, I emptied the closets of your clothes, threw out the bowl of fruit, bruised from your touch, left empty the jars you bought for preserves. The next morning, birds rustled the fruit trees, and later when I twisted a ripe fig loose from its stem, I found it half eaten, the other side already rotting, or-like another I plucked and split open-being taken from the inside: a swarm of insects hollowing it. I'm too late, again, another space emptied by loss. Tomorrow, the bowl I have yet to fill.
--Natasha Trethewey
Figs from our backyard. T. Hall Albinar 80 - 200 f 3.9 on Sony a7rii.
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