Eduardo C. Corral, “Autobiography of My Hungers” • Pavana Reddy, Where Do You Go Alone? • Margaret Atwood, Excerpt of Speeches for Dr. Frankenstein from Selected Poems 1965-1975 • Moomin (1990-1992) • AmirKhusrau, “Ghazal 249,” In the Bazaar of Love: The Selected Poems of Amir Khusrau • Mark Doty, “The Death of Antinoüs” • Yves Olade,“Béloved”, Slaughterhouse
SUCCERS i’m taking it upon myself to make a weekly google drive with s3 of succession, here’s the link to the folder, check this space for updates on whenever i upload the latest episode;)
when Charles Bukowski said “and when nobody wakes you up in the morning, and when nobody waits for you at night, and when you can do whatever you want. what do you call it, freedom or loneliness?”
sometimes u just have to stand over the sink and eat fruit that is perfectly ripe and know that each person is a world you cannot ever know the depth of and that each fruit and each life deserves a moment of quiet
when fleabag said, “with all the love i have for her. i don’t know where to put it now.” and when anne carson wrote, “you remember too much, / my mother said to me recently. / why hold onto all that? and i said, / where can i put it down?” and when mitski sang, “i don’t know what to do without you / i don’t know where to put my hands” and when donnie smith in magnolia (1999) cried, “i really do have love to give! i just don’t know where to put it!” and when emily dickinson once wrote, “we outgrow love, like other things / and put it in the drawer —”
“The number
of hours
we have
together is
actually not
so large.
Please linger
near the
door uncomfortably
instead of
just leaving.
Please forget
your scarf
in my
life and
come back
later for
it.”
— Mikko Harvey, from “For M,” Foundry (no. 9, September 2018)
Daughters really do share deep rooted emotional trauma with/inherit deep rooted emotional trauma from their mothers and I know it’s true bc whenever I try to approach a sensitive topic with my mom, no matter how calm and civil and patient I intend to be no matter how much I’ve practiced what I want to say no matter how OK I was even a moment before, I always involuntarily burst into desperate, angry hysterics the moment I open my mouth. As though it’s coming from a place buried so far within me I cannot even register its existence until it has overtaken me. And I know I’m not alone on this either. There is so much we internalize from our mothers that we never learn to contend with. That we never even learn to recognize
Every woman is essentially a Russian Nesting Doll of trauma. There’s my pain, then open me up and neatly nested inside is my mother and her pain, crack her open and there’s her mother, and then
