summer
wallpaper covered ceilings
complicated feelings
and i don’t feel safe anymore, oh, what a mess
i wonder who’s watching me now, the IRS?
sometimes i think you were the one who gave me dandruff
and anger and a dimple on the chin
weak ankles, always a little rough
and so many papers to fill
resilience too
we came to the conclusion that sick child and accident cancel each other out
« Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night stays these couriers from the swift completion of their appointed rounds »
-USPS
this is the way the world ends
not with a bang but a whimper
-T. S. Eliot, ‘The Hollow Men’
as we go marching, marching, in the beauty of the day,
a million darkened kitchens, a thousand mill lofts gray,
are touched with all the radiance that a sudden sun discloses,
for the people hear us singing: bread and roses! bread and roses!
as we go marching, marching, we battle too for men,
for they are women’s children, and we mother them again.
our lives shall not be sweated from birth until life closes;
hearts starve as well as bodies; give us bread, but give us roses.
as we go marching, marching, unnumbered women dead
go crying through our singing their ancient call for bread.
small art and love and beauty their drudging spirits knew.
yes, it is bread we fight for, but we fight for roses too.
-james hoppenheim, 1911
I still remember us
all day in bed
watching mister gadget
breakfast food and morning cartoons
that spill in the afternoon
i’d be good at devotion, i know it
i think we all crave for some sort of higher power
shame i can’t bring myself to believe
I feel a bit clearer now. Everything’s been out of order. Time, I mean.
I thought for so long that time was like a line, that our moments were laid out like dominoes, and that they fell, one into another. And on it went, just days tipping, one into the next, into the next, in a long line between the beginning…and the end.
But I was wrong. It’s not like that at all. Our moments fall around us like rain. Or… like snow… or confetti.
-The haunting of Hill House
qu’est-ce qu’un monstre ? un être dont la survie est incompatible avec l’ordre existant
-diderot (presque)
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