Keepers Of Private Notebooks Are A Different Breed Altogether, Lonely And Resistant Rearrangers Of Things,

“The all-night convenience store’s empty and no one is behind the counter. You open and shut the glass door a few times causing a bell to go off, but no one appears. You only came to buy a pack of cigarettes, maybe a copy of yesterday’s newspaper – finally you take one and leave thirty-five cents in its place. It is freezing, but it is a good thing to step outside again: you can feel less alone in the night, with lights on here and there between the dark buildings and trees. Your own among them, somewhere. There must be thousands of people in this city who are dying to welcome you into their small bolted rooms, to sit you down and tell you what has happened to their lives. And the night smells like snow. Walking home for a moment you almost believe you could start again. And an intense love rushes to your heart, and hope. It’s unendurable, unendurable.”

— Franz Wright, “Night Walk” (via blxckberrying)

occupations for an exiled wretch

As a seasoned practicioner of ‘social distancing’, there are a never-ending list of activities with which to occupy oneself during these unsettling and exiguous times. A mere sampling below:

i) partake in an opera viewing (or two, or three…) (x)(x)(x) ii) learn a new language (the better with which to summon ancient gods) iii) plan a music/drink pairing (x) iv) throw a surrealist fine dining party (for one), à la dalí (x) v) hold a séance (x) vi) peruse online archives (x)(x)(x) vii) write an epic poem viii) purchase a chateau (x) ix) plan the ideal world-travelling itinerary (food, lodging, and activities in each place along the way in painstaking detail) x) establish a secret society (password and uniform are mandatory)

Hand Illustrations by Rim Bitik

Edward Hopper

jude law in wilde (1997)

Court Ladies Bathing in the 18th Century (details)

François Flameng

i love a fog. i love a woods.

I want the cottage. I want the green grass and the tomato plants. I want the peace in you; the front porch rocking chair lullaby; our cricket legs rubbing together under the covers. We can’t have it all. I know that, but humor me. We can’t have it all, but we can have most of it.

Caitlyn Siehl, from “Apple Pie Life” (via oofpoetry)