“I too am ferociously alive—and I lick my snout like a tiger who has just devoured a deer.”
Água Viva — Clarice Lispector.
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And to every word left unsaid // Part 2
September 9th, 2022
“I would be more grateful if being alive hadn’t seemed so effortless, the way I’d appreciate gravity more if I’d trouble floating in my teens. Still, I apologise. My straight white teeth have yellowed and I can’t tell a crow from a blackbird. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. This may be me at my best.”
Personal Inventory: Fearless (Temporis Fila) — Kaveh Akbar.
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I'm gonna tell you a secret.....
“In the bathtub, I examine my body. We’re supposed to do that. And your face too? Your face in the mirror? I was vigilant; when I touched myself I didn’t feel anything. Were you safe then? I was never safe, even when I was most hidden. Even then I was waiting. So you couldn’t protect yourself? The absolute erodes; the boundary, the wall around the self erodes. If I was waiting I had been invaded by time. But do you think you’re free? I think I recognize the patterns of my nature. But do you think you’re free? I had nothing and I was still changed. Like a costume, my numbness was taken away. Then hunger was added.”
Mutable Earth — Louise Glück.
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This could be my last report from Gaza by Tareq S. Hajjaj. Please read.
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Aftenstemning (1878)
— by Amaldus Clarin Nielsen
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Burning Planet - Väinö Rouvinen , 1971.
Finnish, b. 1932 -
Aquatint drypoint , 53.5 × 68.5 cm.
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Source: instagram.com
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— clarice lispector, the stream of life
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Jimi Hendrix in Ringo Starr’s apartment in London, 1966
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Linda Ganus - La Vie En Rose, 2022
“And from deep down inside herself, after a moment of silence and abandonment, it rose up, at first pale and hesitant, then stronger and more painful: from the depths I call thee... from the depths I call thee... from the depths I call thee... She remained unmoving for a few more moments, her face expressionless, slack and tired as if she’d had a child. Little by little she was reborn, slowly opened her eyes and returned to the daylight. Fragile, breathing lightly, happy like a convalescent receiving her first breeze.”
Near To The Wild Heart — Clarice Lispector.
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“But once more, as she spoke, she became aware that he was no longer listening. He came close and caught her to him as if he were snatching her from some imminent peril: his impetuous eyes were in hers, and she could feel the hard beat of his heart as he held her against it. ‘Kiss me again — like last night,’ he said, pushing her hair back as if to draw her whole face up into his kiss.”
Summer — Edith Wharton.