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"A Shirt Made of Fire", Vardges Petrosyan (translated by metamorphesque)

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David Foster Wallace // Marya Hornbacher, Waiting // Albert Camus, A Happy Death // Kai Cheng Thom, A Place Called No Homeland // Brené Brown, Dancing Greatly // @danielcalmdown // Anna White, Mended: Thoughts on Life, Love and Leaps of Faith // Marya Hornbacher, Waiting // Sleeping At Last—Neptune

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On Yearning

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a girl of fear, a woman of anger— look how we've grown

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May my visions of love lend itself to a soft set of hands.

If never a day comes where it finds itself as a token of gratitude.

An offer of what a tender forever could accomplish.

I no longer expect others to watch over my heart as they would their own.

Under the cloak of a silent indiscernible violence, the emotional self-maiming which takes place unfolds at an alarming rate, one that even the most devout masochist would plead mercy.

Some, to no fault of their own, being to see misery as religion, and the act of infliction, either self induced or brought upon them, as a rung to climb to reach a long awaited pleasure.

Pain becoming the necessary evil, a test of emotional endurance to see if they are truly worth harboring the prize of genuine, healthy love.

Please, do not mistake my battered tendencies as a reason to keep pummeling.

I wish not to be bruised more than what has already been made visible.

Preserve this heart, my heart, in a most pristine state.

I wish not to send bitter farewells or turn away unsuspecting bidders, who come bearing beautiful smiles, and a trusting set of hands, a tarnished greeting.

I cannot foresee the man I become if my heart suffers another fracture.

- Antonio Laborte (2023)

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{Marya Hornbacher from Wasted: A Memoir of Anorexia and Bulimia//stay away but come closer via Altusboy on Tumblr}

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Ruth Madievsky, All-Night Pharmacy

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on love arriving unannounced

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Of the rainbow

Hidden 'neath my skin

Hearts have colors

Don't we all know?

"Red runs through our veins

Feel the fire burning up

Inspire me with blood

Of blue and green

I have hope

Inside is not a heart

But a kaleidoscope."

-Sara Bareilles

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Objectivity is a sign of exhaustion. Vigor chooses and refuses. It is weakness that does justice to everything and glosses over the irreducible. Universalism, in whatever form it takes, testifies to powerlessness and blandness. 

Notebooks E. Cioran

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“Our needs, our desires are parallel to ourselves, and as for our dreams, it is not we who dream them now, someone else dreams them inside us. Our very fear is no longer our own”

— Emil Cioran, The Fall Into Time

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En tu órbita 🚀

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RIGHT?

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"Me atormenta tu amor que no me sirve de puente porque un puente no se sostiene de un solo lado."

- Julio Cortázar, Rayuela

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