"What kills love? Only this: Neglect. Not to see you when you stand before me. Not to think of you in the little things. Not to make the road wide for you, the table spread for you. To choose you out of habit not desire, to pass the flower seller without a thought. To leave the dishes unwashed, the bed unmade, to ignore you in the mornings, make use of you at night. To crave another while pecking your cheek. To say your name without hearing it, to assume it is mine to call."

— Jeanette Winterson, Written on the Body


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  • 2 months ago
  • 1846

MANTRA TO OVERCOME DEPRESSION

Vitamin D. Sunlight. Go 

outside. Get a good night

of sleep. Not too good.

Not shades drawn forever
good. Not like you used to.

Open the windows.

Buy more houseplants.
Breathe. Meditate. (One day,

you will no longer be

afraid of being alone
with your thoughts.)

Exercise. Actually exercise

instead of just googling it.
Eat well. Cook for yourself.

Organize your closet, the

garage. Drink plenty of water
and repeat after me:

I am not a problem

to be solved
. Repeat after me:
I am worthy I am worthy I am

neither the mistake nor

the punishment.
Forget to take
vitamins. Let the houseplant die.

Eat spoonfuls of peanut butter.

Shave your head. Forget
this poem. It doesn’t matter—

there is no wrong way

to remember the grace of your
own body; no choice

that can unmake itself.

There is only now, here,
look: you are already

forgiven.

Sierra DeMulder

  • 2 months ago
  • 2170

"I love everything that flows, everything that has time in it and becoming, that brings us back to the beginning where there is never end: the violence of the prophets, the obscenity that is ecstasy, the wisdom of the fanatic, the priest with his rubber litany, the foul words of the whore, the spittle that floats away in the gutter, the milk of the breast and the bitter honey that pours from the womb, all that is fluid, melting, dissolute and dissolvent, all the pus and dirt that in flowing is purified, that loses its sense of origin, that makes the great circuit toward death and dissolution. The great incestuous wish is to flow on, one with time, to merge the great image of the beyond with the here and now. A fatuous, suicidal wish that is constipated by words and paralyzed by thought."

— Henry Miller, Tropic of Cancer

[source]

  • 2 months ago
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  • 2 months ago
  • 1222

History does not disclose the name of the first black person dragged onto a slave ship, the first black person held in newly constructed prisons, or the first black person forcibly recruited to work on a colonial plantation. But black people have been arriving late ever since, hoping that the slavers have left, the ships traveled beyond the horizon, the whip silenced, the work done, the suffering gone.

Black time—whether you call it colored people time (CPT) or African timing (AT) or the deliciousness of syncopation—black time is about delay, interruption, break: strategic lateness.

Black time is long time, deep time, waiting time, excavated time, time around time. The not-here, the not-yet-there, the it-will-be-coming, the it-has-been-to-come, the it’s-not-wasn’t-yet, the it-was-just-here-yet-to-be-now. The fold, the crease, the wrinkle, the tick that does not tock. The tock that does not talk. The silence that does not break. The breaking that will not be broken. The.

You-just-missed-it.

Black time is hungry time. Ravenous time. Gluttonous time. Cannibal time.

Black time is waiting time, time after the reservation, time after other people’s time, time cut by other people’s time, time as didn’t-see-you, time as can-you-wait, time as you-again, time as I-don’t-have-time-for-this-shit.

Black time is dropped consonants, slipped sounds, skipped beats, don’t-wanna-ain’t-gonna-coz-it-don’t-make-no-difference time. Black time is learned time, doing time, time done, time-to-do, time-never-done, time-undone. Time-served, time-to-serve, time-serving, time-unserved, time-put-off, time-for-time, pipeline-time, skipping-time, cut-time, time-cut, cutting-time.

I haven’t seen you for a minute.

Sorry I’m posting this late. I was running behind.

– Black Time, Keguro Macharia

  • 2 months ago
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"Maybe I don’t want to relate to you. Maybe I don’t want you to say “I have felt the same way before.”
Here’s a little fact about me: I like being alone. I like being by myself.
Here’s another fact: Sometimes I don’t want to be cheered up. Sometimes I just want to feel exactly what I’m feeling and I don’t want anyone to intervene.
I don’t want other people to relate to me. I want to feel my own things, not things that have been felt a million times before.
I am suffocating, breathing in old, recycled air. These words have been said before. These feelings have been felt before. What I want is something in this life that can be mine and no one else’s. I don’t care if that’s selfish. Let me be selfish."

— Marianna Paige

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  • 2 months ago
  • 1788