humanity-in-the-absurd-hour - Humanity in the Absurd Hour
Humanity in the Absurd Hour

Musings and suchSHE/HER | AUS | ND | QUEER | ART | WORDS

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Latest Posts by humanity-in-the-absurd-hour - Page 2

Mary Oliver, From A Poem Titled "White Owl Flies Into And Out Of The Field," Featured In A Century Of

Mary Oliver, from a poem titled "White Owl Flies Into and Out of the Field," featured in A Century of Poetry in the New Yorker

April, 1932 The Diary Of Anaïs Nin [Volume One: 1931-1934]
April, 1932 The Diary Of Anaïs Nin [Volume One: 1931-1934]

April, 1932 The diary of Anaïs Nin [Volume One: 1931-1934]

"We have art in order not to die of the truth..."

The World Will Probably Never Capture Me, But I Will Do My Best To Capture It.

The world will probably never capture me, but I will do my best to capture it.


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You ever hear that old chestnut about how most people neglect the part of the story of Icarus where he also had to avoid flying too low, lest the spray of the sea soak his feathers and cause him to fall and drown? You ever think about how different the world would be if Icarus died that way instead? If the idiom was to Fly To Close To The Sea? A warning against playing it far too safe, about not stretching your wings and soaring properly? You ever think about how Icarus died because he was happy?

In deciding what I am, I’ve ruled out cat, vulture, shoe,
a sadist who tortures people to death in a Syrian hospital,
a president who separates families at the border,
a handful of purple irises at the beginning of the path
to heaven. Is there memory in the shade of a tree
of a lynching fifty years ago, when I was nine? And do I love
that tree? Love the sinner, not the sin. Forgive the electricity,
not the singeing of genitals. The more I know about human nature
the more I plan to be tall grass in a field. Until then
I’ll tell my wife I love her in Toronto and Blacksburg and bed,
in pajamas and bluejeans and song, in theory and fact and dream.
I will not gouge a man’s eye out, I promise, yet the eye is out,
the man is dead, and the geese I’m listening to have no idea
that we’re as wild as the coyotes that would tear them apart.
If given a choice I’d not choose to be human. If given a choice
how to be human, I’d say like a glass of water. While I have
no answers to the questions I don’t know to ask, I can love my wife
in Detroit, in general, in detail, in vain, in spite, in depth,
in the shallow light of the moon, in contrast to hating myself,
in sympathy and in stealth, in time as a ghost and right now
as a poet wondering if surgeons, during a transplant,
tell the shivering and recycled heart it is loved. I assume so,
but I’ve never asked a heart on its second time around,
Were you christened, were you blessed, are you worth
all this trouble?

remedy by Bob Hicok

Oh, I'm sorry. Just fucking call me out. That's cool.

humanity-in-the-absurd-hour - Humanity in the Absurd Hour

Kinda wild how most people generally recognize that the "too sick to go to school, too sick to watch tv/play games" mindset our parents had was bullshit but still impose essentially the exact same rules on disabled adults and scrutinize them for enjoying low-energy hobbies while being too fatigued or in pain to work a full time job (or any job at all)

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