‘Pietà’ by Käthe Kollwitz, c. 1903.
— Arundhati Roy, The God of Small Things: A Novel
[text: If you're happy in a dream, does that count?]
Evidently Lumon’s been blessed with a new wellness director. So I’ll be retiring at the conclusion of this session.
SEVERANCE 1x08 “What’s for Dinner?”
He lost his wife. You lost your wife. A little before you started at Lumon. Gemma. It was a car accident. And, at first, you tried to keep teaching- I was a teacher? A professor. Of history. You tried to go back to teaching three weeks after she died, and it was a disaster. She was just still in your veins, you know. Making everything hurt. Which is why I guess you thought the severed job would… He hoped you’d be spared from the pain. It’s a nice name. Gemma.
SEVERANCE 1x09 “The We We Are”
1. The Sciences Sing a Lullabye, Albert Goldbarth / 2. Navajo Song, Glenn Dean / 3. God’s Own Country, dir. Francis Lee / 4. Seen on Santiago Island, Cape Verde, Kristin Bethge / 5. Smother, Daughter / 6. Homo Algus, Sophie Prestigiacomo / 7. Bestiary, Donika Kelly / 8. Voltaire’s Advice 2, Hans Vandekerckhove / 9. Stone Butch Blues, Leslie Feinberg / 10. Night Fisher, R. Kikuo Johnson / 11. Sleeping in the Forest, Mary Oliver
Oh I think tomorrow is I Will Not Let The Rot Consume Me Saturday
Ah yes it is
anyone need to just sleep just sleep just sleep just sleep forever and ever and ever and ever forever forever forever forever and ever and ever and ever forever
it’s about being soft and the world eating you up if you don’t harden and the mind numbing monotony of everyday bitterness and no money and petty violence and what happens if your one person decides they don’t want to be your person anymore and who cares about being remembered if you aren’t nice vs who cares about being nice if you aren’t remembered and how terrible small scale tragedies can be even going up against giant horrors like a civil war and what do you do if you hate your home and everyone in it and how do you cope when someone you love uses your love for them to keep you away
fatima aamer bilal, from her garden yearns more for visitors than water.
[text id: i still don't know how to hold your hand without regarding the ugliness of my own,
but i can't contain my soul from enveloping yours.]