When God closes a door I reach my little paws under it and meow until He opens it again.
tell me a pretty thing.
with-antlers-gleaming-deactivat
In Uzbek we have this concept of the divine dark, the darkness from which all things came. So there’s this idea that shows up in a lot of our literature that when the world was first made it was like a gentle night, peaceful, quiet and pitch-black. The night is when creation started and the night is when you’re closest to glimpsing what it was like at the very start of the world.
oh wow that's gorgeous.
If i was a sickly little peasant boy designated by the aristocracy to carry messages back and forth for pennies and you found me against our citys outer wall with a deep wound in my chest from a musket ball and a letter cluthed in my hand and i told you that my dying wish was to have someone read that letter to me so i would know i died for something important and you open it up and you find a single large illustrated diagram of an onion would you tell me what it was? What would you say?
do you ever look at strangers smiling or dancing or having fun and think “i love you”? or see someone bop their heads along with the music from their headphones and you just wish you could tell them how pretty they look doing just that? or feel your heart warm when you watch someone laugh really loudly and then think about them later that day, completely randomly? you’re a part of that, too. someone has kept quiet about how beautiful you are to them, has smiled at the thought of this complete stranger that made their day, has repeated a joke you made to someone they love. there’s a lot of quiet love and admiration and connection in this world and even if you think you don’t belong, you’ve always been and always will be a part of it.
writing as therapy. writing as healing. writing as discovery. writing as self-love. writing as making sense of the dark. writing as rebirth.
I can never read all the books I want; I can never be all the people I want and live all the lives I want. I can never train myself in all the skills I want. And why do I want? I want to live and feel all the shades, tones and variations of mental and physical experience possible in my life. And I am horribly limited.
Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath 1982
i may not be beautiful but at least i know a lot of useless information
studying without the struggle to feel good enough. studying with interest and people to talk to when you don’t understand something. people who get lost in those topics with you over a drink or dinner in the evening, in a cozy bar after a day full of productive hours. walks and bycicle rides in the nights and in the early mornings because you spent the night in some shady apartment or club. motivation because you’re all in this together. happiness because it’s worth it. because you’re not alone.
There is no Frigate like a Book
To take us Lands away
Nor any Coursers like a Page
Of prancing Poetry –
This Traverse may the poorest take
Without oppress of Toll –
How frugal is the Chariot
That bears the Human Soul –
There is no Frigate like a Book (1286)
-Emily Dickenson
"We read to know we're not alone."
- William Nicholson, Shadowlands
