David Hermelin & Boy Ivarson In ‘Adam & Adam’ By Christoffer Sundqvist (st. Sandra Ekenstam) For

fuck all philosophy except for whatever the hell Diogenes was trying to teach

The Secret History (1992)

A comforting thought

Five thousand years ago, the Sumerians called the night ngi, the stars mul, and the moon Nanna.

Four thousand years ago, the Akkadians called the night mūšu, the stars kakkabū, and the moon Sîn.

Three thousand years ago, the Hittites called the night išpanza, the stars haštereš, and the moon Arma.

Two and a half thousand years ago, the Greeks called the night nux, the stars astra, and the moon Selênê.

Two thousand years ago, the Romans called the night nox, the stars stellae, and the moon Luna.

Kings and queens and heroes looked up at them. So did travelers coming home, and little children who sneaked out of bed. So did slaves, and mothers and soldiers and old shepherds, and Sappho and Muršili and Enheduanna and Socrates and Hatshepsut and Cyrus and Cicero. In this darkness it didn’t matter who they were, or where they stood. Only that they were human.

Think of that tonight, when you close your window. You are not alone. You share this night sky with centuries of dreamers and stargazers, and people who longed for quiet. Are you anxious? The Hittites were too: they called it pittuliyaš. Does your heart ache? The Greeks felt it too: they called it akhos. Those who look up to the stars for comfort are a family, and you belong to them. Your ancestors have stood under Nanna, Sîn, Arma, Selênê and Luna for five thousand years. Now its light is yours.

May it soothe you well.

“what’s up everybody i’m pandora and welcome to my unboxing video”

“i prefer to think of poetry, as redistribution of melancholy.”

— from a graffiti on a wall in rome - i might be wrong, but the author did read tsh. that or henry winter is still alive.

IN LOVING YOU I EAT MY HEART; IN LOVING ME YOU EAT MINE

Mary Renault, The Persian Boy Stephen Crane, ‘In the Desert’ Grace Moloney, bite the hands that feed me Yves Olade, Bloodsport Natalie Diaz, Postcolonial Love Poem Edvard Munch, Two Heart (detail), 1899 Philippe de Champaigne, Saint Augustine (detail), 1650 Dante Alighieri, Vita Nova, trans. Mark Musa Red Dragon (2002), dir. Brett Ratner Margaret Atwood, ‘Two-Headed Poems’

Looks like we can’t isolate, ignore, ibuprofen our way out of this one boys

I'd very much like to punch a feminist.

I’d never, ever hurt a lady but I’d be happy to punch a feminist. It’d bring me great joy.

I know it is my father's first time on this Earth, too. And I know He had it worse when he was little.

But I was little too.

— Franz Kafka, from letters to his father