Waltztrvck - Just A Dump Lol

earning it

halloween, phoebe bridgers | emily palermo | mommy issues: unlearning inherited pain, joan tierney | the last days of judas iscariot, stephen adly guirgis | nobody, mitski | georges bataille | love as an act of merciful conquer, silas denver melvin | gilead, marilynne robinson | giovanni’s room, james baldwin

on desire, on needs. november/december.

the crane wife by cj hauser // speeches for dr frankenstein by margaret atwood // the crane wife by cj hauser // hunger makes me by jess zimmerman // the crane wife by cj hauser // a hunger like no ther by sk osborn // cover of war of the foxes by richard siken, art by david de la heras // hunger makes me by jess zimmerman // i had to get out by indigo de souza

My brother cracked my rib one morning and gave me half of his orange in the evening.

I remember being younger and sometimes wishing to be a single child, to have all the attention and gifts and time but when he was away from home for the first time, I remember crying and stroking his side of the sofa as if blurting out my first wish- for him to be home, without thinking twice, without a shadow of doubt. Even the genie cried. Growing up with a sibling is like being the only people on a stranded boat, constantly figuring out how you can live with them and questioning how you could ever live without them.

One evening, in a fit of anger, I told him how I never wanted him to be my brother and he yelled that he didn't ask for it either. The air smelled like kerosene and my chest was filled with arsenic. I was raging and threw his favorite toy aeroplane down the window, 7 stories of guilt and shame. He cried all night and I wanted to cut off my right hand, the hand that hurt my baby brother. I didn't know if he was ever going to forgive me or even talk to me. The next morning at breakfast, he didn't look at me or say a word, I felt like my chest was about to explode and guilt clouded my vision. But then, I felt a hand quietly holding half of an orange my way.

The only people on a stranded boat. How do you live with them? How could you ever live without them?

-Ritika Jyala, excerpt from The world is a sphere of ice and our hands are made of fire

Edit: I added a visualizer for this on my YouTube channel. Check it out here

Mahmoud Darwish, “Viewpoint,” trans. Fady Joudah, in The Ecco Anthology of International Poetry, edited by Ilya Kaminsky [ID in alt text]

mosaic tiles ✤

“Curse her! May she be everlastingly accursed!”  An illustration from She by Henry Rider Haggard.

embrace (II), peter wever

also, my fav colors