When Mahmoud Darwish Said, "A University Degree, Four Books And Hundereds Of Articles And I Still Make

The mild breeze twisted over the cloud of sunset,

Poised as though the sea had taken up

the form of her capricious admirer,

To stretch out her arms and reach for her

untouchable muse.

The pearly light of the moon twinkles

with the light of heavenly solace

Upon the ceaseless wave wandering in confounding

aimlessness,

All while the depths of the untouched ocean

rumble with the disturbed murmurs whispered to an

empty heart, wherein the first star at twilight

and the final star at dawn, will be united in a

yearning embrace, someday.

honest to god can't stop thinking about this song about jeff bezos by philip labes (link takes you to his spotify). it's such a good example of politically driven folk music.

“No writing is wasted. Did you know that sourdough from San Francisco is leavened partly by a bacteria called lactobacillus sanfrancisensis? It is native to the soil there, and does not do well elsewhere. But any kitchen can become an ecosystem. If you bake a lot, your kitchen will become a happy home to wild yeasts, and all your bread will taste better. Even a failed loaf is not wasted. Likewise, cheese makers wash the dairy floor with whey. Tomato gardeners compost with rotten tomatoes. No writing is wasted: the words you can’t put in your book can wash the floor, live in the soil, lurk around in the air. They will make the next words better.”

— ERIN BOW

have you ever had a friend, like as in a normal friendship? ever?

White roses, it has always been white roses, with their inscrutable faces and slender thorns, the grotesque so beautifully encompassed in the lovely.

when you get this, please respond with five things that make you happy! then, send to your last ten people in your notifs (anonymously). you never know who might benefit from spreading positivity♡

Thank you for the ask!

1. Walks alone with no destination where I can gather lots and lots of weeds and ferns and just wander as I please.

2. Keeping all the doors and windows open during rain.

3. Some odd songs that are just so dear and impossibly sweet that you want to throw your arms around them.

4. Old chocolate wrappers.

5. Finding silly notes written in book margins long ago.

i had an idea for a poem a little while ago but it got lost in life, in time, under a chair, under the blankets, outside a frosty window, beneath a quiet floorboard, under my tongue, inside your eyes

The Flowers (Learning to Love Again)

The human effigy leaves my brain Unfazed these days.

I have detached my self From its very nature Seeking inner quietude; an escape From the ever gnawing.

So did I become passionless, Desireless; void Of corporeal aching; Mechanical in visual interpretations.

Muscles, tendons, fat, flesh Bone structures, imaginarily Dissected; Witnessed apathetic; Unsignified, their radiation electromagnetic Reflected on photoreceptors.

Eyes Fill not with wonder, Solely perceive functionalistically.

Yet the only tragedy here Is that I’m not allowed to forget The existence of my own effigy.

This vessel, Requiring maintenance, Demanding Its own existence So pressingly I cannot withstand.

Basic wants, and basic needs Will so lead to desire’s revival.

I await its corruption Uneager And fatalistic.

For now, I cherish This unadulterated predisposition As I am the world’s Witness.

I will love the flowers instead.

Experiencing the enrapturement Of true beauty In all its innocence.

— 11-5-2021, M.A. Tempels ©

thinking about how orpheus turning to look back at eurydice isn’t a sign of mortal frailness but a sign of love