It’s Kinda Fucked Up That You’re Only An Age For A Year. I Didn’t Know How To Be 23 Yet, Let Me

it’s kinda fucked up that you’re only an age for a year. I didn’t know how to be 23 yet, let me try again

More Posts from B-luish and Others

1 month ago
b-luish - you've got to believe in the poetry

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1 month ago

“Above all, do not lie to yourself. A man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point where he does not discern any truth either in himself or anywhere around him, and thus falls into disrespect towards himself and others. Not respecting anyone, he ceases to love, and having no love, he gives himself up to passions and coarse pleasures, in order to occupy and amuse himself, and in his vices reaches complete bestiality, and it all comes from lying continually to others and to himself.”

— Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

1 month ago
b-luish - you've got to believe in the poetry
1 month ago
b-luish - you've got to believe in the poetry
1 month ago

“I knew I did from the first moment we met. It was not love at first sight exactly, but familiarity. Like: oh, hello, its you. Its going to be you.”

— Mhairi McFarlane

1 month ago
My boyfriend did not die in 1991. I told a lie and it turned into a fact, forever repeated in my official biography. He died on Christmas Day, 1990, when his family disconnected the mechanical breathing machine. He was a composer in the school of music. We were working on a piece for voice and strings. I liked writing the words under the whole notes, hyphenating them to make them last. I liked sitting on the bed in his apartment, writing on the sheet music—bigger paper, thicker, how it sounded when it fell to the floor when we got tired. It was winter break, friends in town, we hopped from party to party, catching up but separately. It was late, the night was clear, the roads were empty. The four of them were sober, the driver in the other car was not. I was a few miles away, in a bar, waiting. When the bar closed, I left him an angry message for standing me up. A few hours later, a friend called and told me. He suggested I break into the apartment and start removing things before the family arrived. For several minutes I didn’t understand, then—evidence. He hadn’t told his family and it didn’t seem right to tell them now, to suggest that they didn’t really know him. I drove in the darkness between the accident and dawn. I climbed through the window. I couldn’t figure which things looked suspicious and which things would be missed. I was sloppy, rushed. I grabbed the wrong sheet music. It was a piece that had already been performed. A few days after Christmas there was a memorial. I sat in the back. As part of his speech, his father mentioned the missing music and made an appeal for its return. I couldn’t give it back. On New Year’s Eve, in a black velvet jacket, at a party in the lobby of a downtown hotel, with a drink in each hand—one for him, one for me—I kept asking where he was, if anyone had seen him. I had his passport in my back pocket. I shouldn’t have taken that either. It was the only picture of him I could find.

cover story by Richard Siken

1 month ago
Naomi Shihab Nye, From Fuel: Poems; “Hidden”

Naomi Shihab Nye, from Fuel: Poems; “Hidden”

[Text ID: "If you tuck the name of a loved one / under your tongue too long / without speaking it / it becomes blood"]

1 month ago
text I'd: tried to say something

that filled my mouth

and longed to rest

in your ear.

don't dare write

it down for fear it'll

become words, just

words.

"All Texts", Viggo Mortensen

1 month ago

“I’ve wasted a lot of time in my life. I’ve thought too much about what people will say or what they’re gonna think. And sometimes it’s over silly things like going to the grocery store or going to the post office. But there have been times when I really stopped myself from doing something special. All because I was scared someone might look at me and decide I wasn’t good enough. But you don’t have to bother with that nonsense. I wasted all that time so you don’t have to.”

— Julie Murphy, Dumplin’

1 month ago

“I swear I only want to hear about you, to know what you’ve been doing. It’s a hundred years since we’ve met- it may be another hundred years before we meet again.”

— Edith Wharton

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b-luish - you've got to believe in the poetry
you've got to believe in the poetry

because everything else in your life will fail you, including yourself

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