theyar

idea for the opening number of the 2017 Tony Awards

every show is introduced in the style of “prologue” from natasha, pierre, and the great comet of 1812

soulmates

aries + sagittarius

“You were you,
and I was I;
we were two
before our time.
I was yours
before I knew,
and you have always
been mine too.”

taurus + virgo

“I still search for you in crowds,
in empty fields and soaring clouds.
In city lights and passing cars,
on winding roads and wishing stars.”


cancer + pisces

“I don’t know how you are so familiar to me—or why it feels less like I am getting to know you and more as though I am remembering who you are. How every smile, every whisper brings me closer to the impossible conclusion that I have known you before, I have loved you before—in another time, a different place, some other existence.”

libra + leo

“Letting you go – There is a particular kind of suffering to be experienced when you love something greater than yourself. A tender sacrifice. Like the pained silence felt in the lost song of a mermaid; or the bent and broken feet of a dancing ballerina. It is in every considered step I am taking in the opposite direction of you.”

scorpio + capricorn

“One day you meet someone and for some inexplicable reason, you feel more connected to this stranger than anyone else–closer to them than your closest family. Perhaps this person carries within them an angel–one sent to you for some higher purpose; to teach you an important lesson or to keep you safe during a perilous time. What you must do is trust in them–even if they come hand in hand with pain or suffering–the reason for their presence will become clear in due time.”

aquarius + gemini

“Souls"
When two souls fall in love, there is nothing else but the
yearning to be close to the other. The presence that is felt
through a hand held, a voice heard, or a smile seen.

Souls do not have calendars or clocks, nor do they understand
the notion of time or distance. They only know it feels right to
be with one another.

This is the reason why you miss someone so much when they
are not there— even if they are only in the very next room.
Your soul only feels their absence— it doesn’t realize the
separation is temporary.” 




(quotes source: lang leav)


How astonishing it is that language can almost mean,
and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say,
God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, and the words
Get it wrong. We say bread and it means according
to which nation. French has no word for home,
and we have no word for strict pleasure. A people
in northern India is dying out because their ancient
tongue has no words for endearment. I dream of lost
vocabularies that might express some of what
we no longer can. Maybe the Etruscan texts would
finally explain why the couples on their tombs
are smiling. And maybe not. When the thousands
of mysterious Sumerian tablets were translated,
they seemed to be business records. But what if they
are poems or psalms? My joy is the same as twelve
Ethiopian goats standing silent in the morning light.
O Lord, thou art slabs of salt and ingots of copper,
as grand as ripe barley lithe under the wind’s labor.
Her breasts are six white oxen loaded with bolts
of long-fibered Egyptian cotton. My love is a hundred
pitchers of honey. Shiploads of thuya are what
my body wants to say to your body. Giraffes are this
desire in the dark. Perhaps the spiral Minoan script
is not a language but a map. What we feel most has
no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses and birds


Jack Gilbert - The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart

Image:  Early Sumerian pictograph



“How astonishing it is that language can almost mean,
and frightening that it does not quite. Love, we say,
God, we say, Rome and Michiko, we write, and the words
get it all wrong. We say bread and it means according
to which nation. French has no word for home,
and we have no word for strict pleasure. A people
in northern India is dying out because their ancient
tongue has no words for endearment. I dream of lost
vocabularies that might express some of what
we no longer can. Maybe the Etruscan texts would
finally explain why the couples on their tombs
are smiling. And maybe not. When the thousands
of mysterious Sumerian tablets were translated,
they seemed to be business records. But what if they
are poems or psalms? My joy is the same as twelve
Ethiopian goats standing silent in the morning light.
O Lord, thou art slabs of salt and ingots of copper,
as grand as ripe barley lithe under the wind’s labor.
Her breasts are six white oxen loaded with bolts
of long-fibered Egyptian cotton. My love is a hundred
pitchers of honey. Shiploads of thuya are what
my body wants to say to your body. Giraffes are this
desire in the dark. Perhaps the spiral Minoan script
is not language but a map. What we feel most has
no name but amber, archers, cinnamon, horses, and birds.”

- Jack Gilbert, The Forgotten Dialect of the Heart from The Great Fires

Umar bin al-Khattab heard a person saying: ‘O Allah, make me among the few ones.’

Umar asked him: ‘What is that?’

He replied: Commander of the faithful, Allah, the Exalted said:

‘’… and did not believe with him but afew.’’ (11:40) ‘’Only a few of My servantsare grateful.’’ (34:40) ‘’Except those whohave faith and do good deeds; and theyare very few.’’ (38:24)

Umar said: ‘You are right.’.

Imam Ahmad Source: Imam Ahmad, Az-Zuhd, 142

You hold a flashlight under your chin and I count the shadows on your face

I reach for you and

music pours from the cracks of

your skin. This is the beginning of 

something; why do I

think of the end? – I am still singing

to you. I am pretending that this is forever

and that you will never cut your hair.

We all lose our strength eventually. But

you hold my flaws like they

are kindling, something

to fuel a night of ghost stories 

and constellations.

For All The Women Who Don’t Think Before They Scream

I’m no introverted bookworm
Pixie/dream/girl/coffeeshop/waif
My eyes aren’t doe-like they are
Black pools of acid rain my
Resting bitch face is atomic
Bomb, I’m too goddamn loud
Too tall, too broad-shouldered
You cannot toss me, laughing 
Into the deep-end, I cannot be
Easily led, there is simply too much
Of me, I twirl with all the grace of
A tornado


My wrists are not fine they
Are thick like whale bones they
Steady my fists, fingers curled to palm
Poised for battling mirror demons
I have never had a thought I didn’t
Spray paint across my features I
Tend to yell before I have figured out
What is I’m trying to say, I am not
Fragile, I’m shattered glass all
Sharp edges and cut corners
I don’t have any endearing quirks I
Don’t braid wildflowers through my hair
Or eat my dessert first I am not a 
Crazy, beautiful mess I am all the 
Colours on the palate blended
To grey-brown, I am trampled earth
I am muddy mornings

For all the women who don’t think
Before they scream, for all the foghorn
Girls, the black rocks at the river bottom
The women too sturdy, too whole, too hard
To be treated as precious, to be handled
With care, the women with smiles too
Toothy, nails too short, voices too deep
For all the women who demand things who
Go kicking and screaming into the dawn who
Hear no so often they have learned 
To stop asking and start taking who
Never did learn their best angles who
Grimace in photographs and drink too 
Much and dance on tables because they 
Learned sometimes the spotlight
Is the only place they never 
Think to look


The women who are told they are too
Cold to love, too hard to love, who cry
But never let them see it for all
The women who are alone not because
They want to be, but because they have to be
For all my echo women, my shadow queens
My mad, sad, lonely, living, dancing, creating
Loving fiercely, bravely, time and time again
In spite of them all, for my tidal women
My flesh and bone women
My nightmares.