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We’re emotional illiterates. We’ve been taught about anatomy and farming methods in Africa. We’ve learned mathematical formulas by heart. But we haven’t been taught a thing about our souls. We’re tremendously ignorant about what makes people tick.


wapiti3:

Ichthyological Atlas of the Dutch East Indies published under the auspices of the Dutch colonial government ,;By Bleeker, (Pieter), 1819-1878,ht on Flickr.

Via Flickr:
Publication info Amsterdam: Frédéric Muller, EDITEUR 0.1862-1878,gl
BHL Collections:
Ernst Mayr Library of the MCZ, Harvard University

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A poet
can stick anything into the fog and make it look like a ghost.
But tonight let us not become tragedies.
We are not funeral homes
with propane tanks in our windows
lookin’ like cemeteries.
Cemeteries are just the Earth’s way of not letting go.
Let go.
Tonight, Poets, let’s turn our wrists so far backwards
the razor blades in our pencil tips
can’t get a good angle on all that beauty inside.
Step into this
with your airplane parts
and repeat after me with your heart:
I no longer need you to fuck me as hard as I hate myself.
Make love to me
like you know I am better than the worst thing I ever did.
Go slow.
I’m new to this
but I have seen nearly every city from a rooftop without jumping.
I have realized the moon did not have to be full for us to love it.
We are not tragedies
stranded here beneath it.

If my heart really broke every time I fell from love
I’d be able to offer you confetti by now
but hearts don’t break, y’all,
they bruise and get better.
We were never tragedies.
We were emergencies.
You call 9 – 1 – 1.
Tell them I’m havin’ a fantastic time.

 

— Buddy Wakefield, We Were Emergencies

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bowandsea:

Francis Alys - Sometimes Making Something Leads to Nothing (1997)

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1905-1908: Leo Tolstoy playing chess with a friend
Mostly, I could tell, I made him feel uncomfortable. He didn’t understand me, and he was sort of holding it against me. I felt the urge to reassure him that I was like everybody else, just like everybody else. But really there wasn’t much point, and I gave up the idea out of laziness.
— Albert Camus, The Stranger
It is necessary to fall in love, if only to provide an alibi for all the random despair you are going to feel anyway.
Have you noticed that death alone awakens our feelings? How we love the friends who have just left us? How we admire those of our teachers who have ceased to speak, their mouths filled with earth! Then the expression of admiration springs forth naturally, that admiration they were perhaps expecting from us all their lives. But do you know why we are always more just and generous toward the dead? The reason is simple. With them there is no obligation. They leave us free and we can take our time, fit the testimonial in between a cocktail party and a nice little mistress, in our spare time, in short. If they forced us to anything, it would be to remembering, and we have a short memory. No, it is the recently dead we love among our friends, the painful dead, our emotion, ourselves after all!
The Fall
by Albert Camus
Being alone is the prison. Just thinking about yourself, just being trapped in this fucking vortex of always watching yourself. Which, I suppose, is okay if you’re interesting. Truth is, nobody’s that interesting.
— Brenda (Six Feet Under), Episode 3x5 - “The Trap”



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