#dreary pinks
“She had presence, too, a kind of wordless needless authority, torchlike, contingent on no approval or loyalty.”
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“Unharvested apricots had fallen and were fermenting on the ant-covered ground. The heady smell and the buzzing of bees and wasps filled the air. Ample fruit still hung on the tree, and I was not slow to fill my hands-“
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“Love has no desire but to fulfil itself.
But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:
To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.
To know the pain of too much tenderness.
To be wounded by your own understanding of love;
And to bleed willingly and joyfully.
To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;
To rest at the noon hour and mediate love’s ecstasy;
To return home at evetide with gratitude;
And then sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.”
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“Each circle spins off a circle of its own. Each one seems a new thing but in truth it is not. It is just our most recent attempt to correct old errors, to undo old wrongs done to us, and to make up for things we have neglected. In each cycle, we may correct old errors, but I think we make as many new ones. Yet what is our alternative? To commit the same old errors again? Perhaps having the courage to find a better path is having the courage to risk making new mistakes.”
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Sunday in 16 : 9
Women like you drown oceans.
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Scorpio sun, Pisces moon | Pisces sun, Scorpio moon
(we hadn’t known; of course we’re an overflowing glass together, of course).
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with@sarahbwailin
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Sunday in 16 : 9
Dear Viewers. I have got some precious trolls sniping my DMs on a quarterly basis, trying (for years now) to play me the same three chords of attempted power trip insults like it is the Most Spiteful Pop Punk Ballad in the discman set on repeat single track.
I’ve never dignified any of the messages by responding until now, until this. So much spitting venom that, yes I do see, and read, and scoff at, and share with my loves, and chuckle about, and condole, and delete. Then move onward.
“But even my wickedness was impotent. It had gained me nothing.”
My Very Wounded Dudes, please self-reflect.
Please cultivate the mental maturity to have constructive and healing dialogue about your feelings. Please stop holding women accountable for your inability to grow internally. Please stop making women beholden to the emotional labor required for you to find and maintain that path.
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Morning is greater
with its firstborn light and birdsong.
Noon is taller, though a moment’s realm.
Evening is ancient and immense, and
night’s storied house more huge.
But I had no idea.
And would have died without a clue,
except she began to sing. And I understood
my soul is a bride enthralled by an unmet groom,
or else the groom wholly spoken for, blue
in ardor, happy in eternal waiting.
I heard her sing and knew
I would never hear the true
name of each thing
until I realized the abysmal
ground of all things. Her singing
touched that ground in me.
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♫ I have got some business out at the edge of town,
candy weighing both of my pockets down
‘til I can hardly stay afloat from the weight of them
(and knowing how the commonfolk condemn
what it is I do to you to keep you warm:
being a woman, being a woman). ♫
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It’s difficult to be articulate about how insidious and harmful SESTA/FOSTA has already been to the sex work community, about how everyone who has ever enjoyed not just porn or cam shows but any online platform where you can make a social connection will be impacted and censored by this legislation.
It’s hard to tell anyone to go sign the petition when we all know (not just my incredibly cynical ass) that 100000 signatures won’t amount to anything under this government of puritanical hypocrites.
Educate yourselves on how these bills affect the online spaces that we all use. Donate to organizations working to fix it. Call your representatives. Show direct support for the performers and sex workers whom you love: give them money, give them platforms for their voices, give them safe spaces to exist.
#sexworkisrealwork
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Sunday in 16 : 9
“The universe bends to your grandmother; it will not anger her. Your mother knows many things–old things, strange things, things beyond her, things within her, and everything. Your brother is the witch’s son; he shares your mother’s eyes, he’s shaped like a coffin, you wonder what dead thing he must have to carry with him, what peace and rest he must be trying to give something that’s long since left this world. You wonder what burden being him brings. And you? Well, child, what about you? You have your dreams that aren’t clear, you always almost know something you shouldn’t, you are lucky. You are the scientist’s daughter. You don’t belong here. The earth knows it. There has been blood on the equinox and pain. You cannot change without losing something.”
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You were artistic and musical. You were a welder. You loved the woods, and the quiet. You, like me, were left handed. You and I shared the same eyes, the same stillness. Somewhere in time, you were alive today. Somewhere in time, you died tomorrow.
finchlinden.com
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Progress Report
Is this then a touch? quivering me to a new identity,
Flames and ether making a rush for my veins,
Treacherous tip of me reaching and crowding to help them,
My flesh and blood playing out lightning to strike what is hardly different from myself,
On all sides prurient provokers stiffening my limbs,
Straining the udder of my heart for its withheld drip,
Behaving licentious toward me, taking no denial,
Depriving me of my best as for a purpose,
Unbuttoning my clothes, holding me by the bare waist,
Deluding my confusion with the calm of the sunlight and pasture-fields,
Immodestly sliding the fellow-senses away.
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Sunday in 16 : 9
“Do not, my friends, become addicted to water. It will take hold of you, and you will resent its absence.”
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♫ When the sky goes pink in Paris, France
do you think of the girl who used to dance
when you’d frame her moving within your hands,
saying,This I won’t forget♫
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