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homo homini lupus est

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Month: September 2021

Let go.

September 19, 2021September 19, 2021 / April Joy / 1 Comment

“Let not future things disturb you, for you will come to them, if it shall be necessary, having with you the same reason which you now use for present things.”Marcus Aurelius I am tired of reaction. I grow weary of anticipating disaster. I do not want to cease thinking rationally, but would like to avoid … Continue reading Let go.

Monsters and ash.

September 18, 2021September 18, 2021 / April Joy / 1 Comment

A modern day woman with a weak constitution 'cause I've gotMonsters still under my bed that I could never fight offLana del Rey, "hope is a dangerous thing" Here's the thing: we all have monsters we can't fight off. None of us is special in this regard. We aren't going to ever conquer our monsters … Continue reading Monsters and ash.

20 years.

September 11, 2021June 27, 2022 / April Joy / Leave a comment

It felt like the end of the world. Planes fell from the sky and nothing was ever the same again. People falling, seeming to float, the horror of having to make that choice on a Tuesday morning. Holding hands on the way down. Falling alone. Death by fire or death by air. The terrible beauty … Continue reading 20 years.

Catalysts are made to be burned.

September 9, 2021July 3, 2022 / April Joy / 1 Comment

I do not want this. With every fiber of my being, I do not want to be here. The heat. The ants. The fucking gravestone that I refuse to maintain. I never bring flowers. I shouldn’t have to. I should not have to come here. For fuck’s sake. It’s hot and humid today; the marble … Continue reading Catalysts are made to be burned.

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drink me

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the wasteland

“You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
“They called me the hyacinth girl.”
—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.

the archive

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  • July 2019

marina

This form, this face, this life
Living to live in a world of time beyond me; let me
Resign my life for this life, my speech for that unspoken,
The awakened, lips parted, the hope, the new ships.
What seas what shores what granite islands towards my timbers
And woodthrush calling through the fog
My daughter.

burnt norton

And the old made explicit, understood
In the completion of its partial ecstasy,
The resolution of its partial horror.

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