I was gonna sow your seeds
you keep talking about winter
about nuclear sun
all i see is green
photo / greg pths
Everything will turn out right, the world is built on that
I never thought how beautiful things will look from far away
anastasia kontchaeva, soho house fire
Kiss me and you will see how important I am.
some people are born with a piece of night inside
Robert Moses Joyce
If you can see it, it can see you. That’s true of just about anything
Loneliness is a dense thing. There’s no data inside a collapsed star. My tongue glides into a ring of silence. My heart beats in practical terms. There is no moon, no cycle, no time. X-rayed a thousand times, my sex is neutered. What cooks inside are sulphur, calcium, and iron—the stuff from blood and bones, the stuff from fermenting stars.
The comfort of routine and endless chatter must be jettisoned – or lost – in order for anything revelatory to commence. Homelessness – a life spent in nameless locations – brings both emancipation and anxiety
I thought I would be understood without words
J’aime the little wooden matchsticks (allumettes!) with rose-colored combustive tips, which I light the gas stove with to make café au lait in the morning