Oct 25 '25
127 notes
Moon and Venus by Mandrágora
Moon and Venus by Mandrágora
Jan 15 '26
2,651 notes
Jan 15 '26
61 notes“When we feel our own presence, we can feel presence in and around us. When we sit in a forest and feel the trees, they can feel us there too: I’m not merely being sentimental here (I know I am sentimental); somehow scientists have determined this to be the case about trees. Maybe it’s the same as with those we love: We become attuned, magnetized. We embrace what we can reach. The embrace wraps its arms around the absence.”
— Alice B Fogel, “A Love Letter to Longing,” Plume (no. 173, January 2026)
Jan 15 '26
65 notes
Jan 15 '26
51 notes
Jan 15 '26
4,417 notes“To be hopeful in bad times is not just foolishly romantic. It is based on the fact that human history is a history not only of cruelty, but also of compassion, sacrifice, courage, kindness. What we choose to emphasize in this complex history will determine our lives. If we see only the worst, it destroys our capacity to do something. If we remember those times and places—and there are so many—where people have behaved magnificently, this gives us the energy to act, and at least the possibility of sending this spinning top of a world in a different direction. And if we do act, in however small a way, we don’t have to wait for some grand utopian future. The future is an infinite succession of presents, and to live now as we think human beings should live, in defiance of all that is bad around us, is itself a marvelous victory.”
— Howard Zinn, A Power Governments Cannot Suppress
Jan 15 '26
69 notes
Jan 13 '26
414 notes
Jan 13 '26
10 notesThere is an argosy I ferry through my inner halls,
a manuscript inked in quiet hope,
its pages sealed against the world,
for to speak it aloud is to unravel its delicate skein.
Like Psyche in the cathedral of her own repose,
she sleeps within the architecture of absence,
her pulse a compass tracing the invisible contour of her lover’s presence.
Dreams gather around her like spectral attendants,
each one a cipher: a winged form of desire,
a labyrinthine echo of what might yet be.
What visions haunt the sanctum behind her closed lids?
Perhaps a river of stars spilling through unseen skies,
perhaps the tender geometry of longing itself,
each beat a note in the symphony of anticipation.
And in the hush between heartbeats,
the story grows like ivy along forgotten walls,
twining hope and shadow into a secret language
that only the patient, sleepless gods can read
where love is not possession,
but the sacred pulse of waiting,
and yearning itself becomes a kind of immortality.
Jan 13 '26
879 notes
Jan 12 '26
424 notes“For nothing today is more precious to me and rarer than honesty.”
— Friedrich Nietzsche, from Thus Spoke Zarathustra
Jan 12 '26
65 notes
Jan 12 '26
18 notesI awake washed, I melt as I rise, I gather the tender sky.
René Char, “Room in Space,” from The Yale Anthology of Twentieth Century French Poetry
Jan 12 '26
35,383 notes
Jan 12 '26
134 notes
Fernando Pessoa's last writing: "29-11-1935 'l know not what tomorrow will bring'". He died next day November 30, 1935.
Fernando Pessoa's last writing: "29-11-1935 'l know not what tomorrow will bring'". He died next day November 30, 1935.
Jan 10 '26
58 notesThe absence of your face is my only darkness.
Jacques Dupin, “Even If the Mountain,” from The Yale Anthology of Twentieth Century French Poetry
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