Latest Posts by moonmovement - Page 6
So often a metaphor arrives in the physical world with violence.
- Heather Christle, The Crying Book
I want to learn to navigate by stars that have nothing to do with me
- Heather Christle, The Crying Book
the one that teaches water to become ice, helps grief remember how to become tears.
- Heather Christle, The Crying Book
if the grief is unbearable is there another way to live with it that is not the same as bearing it?
- Judith Butler
the whole world around me expanding and contracting, visually and viscerally heaving.
- Heather Christle, The Crying Book
I stare, recognize the ghost of old feelings. ‘What do I remember / that was shaped / as this thing is shaped?’
- Heather Christle, The Crying Book
Look how much sadness you can make from showing sadness restrained.
- Heather Christle, The Crying Book
I believe in ending sentences with a preposition in order to give the ideas a way out.
- Heather Christle, The Crying Book
Despair recognizes its own ridiculousness
- Heather Christle, The Crying Book
I have dreamed of you so much that you are no longer real.
- Robert Desnos
Maybe we do not cry about, but rather near or around. Maybe all our explanations are stories constructed after the fact.
- Heather Christle, The Crying Book
I fear that to write so much about crying will tempt a universal law of irony to invite tragedy into my life.
- Heather Christle, The Crying Book
I’ve felt a peculiar attachment to the t’s of the past: weep, wept, sleep, slept, leave, left. There’s a finality there,
- Heather Christle, The Crying Book
As far as words go, crying is louder and weeping is wetter.
- Heather Christle, The Crying Book
Tears are a sign of powerlessness, a ‘woman’s weapon.’ It has been a very long war.
- Heather Christle, The Crying Book
Perpendicular lines are Chekhovian; the introduced gun goes off. Parallel lines are Hitchcockian; the present bomb is enough.
- Heather Christle, The Crying Book
The first thing you ever did was cry.
- Heather Christle, The Crying Book
the beauty’s really in the movement, in watching your mouth try to swallow despair.
- Heather Christle, The Crying Book
I was so pleased to be seen
- Heather Christle, The Crying Book
“I am the ocean; the earth; whatever dies for you.”
— Alice Notley, from In The Pines: Poems; “The Black Trailor (A Noir Fiction),” (via loveage-moondream)
the tenderness….
“Tell me what you know about the body, and I will tell you how it must turn against itself.”
— Seam: ‘Interview with a Birangona’ by Tarfia Faizullah
I know what the river is like at night. I know how it tongues the dark and swallows the rain and how it never ever sleeps. I know how it sings in its chains, how steadily it backstrokes into eternity, how if you stand beside it in the deeps of its throat it seems to be saying, saying, saying, only what you cannot tell.
Niall Williams, History of the Rain
It's because people are so perishable. That's the thing. Because for everyone you meet there is a last moment, there will be a last moment when your hand slips from theirs, and everything ripples outward from that, the last firmness of a hand in yours that every moment after becomes a little less firm until you look down at your own hand and try to imagine just what it felt like before their hand slipped away. And you cannot. You cannot feel them. And then you cannot quite see them, there's blurry bits, like you're looking through this watery haze, and you're fighting to see, you're fighting to hold on, but they are perishing right before your eyes, and right before your eyes they are becoming that bit more ghost.
Niall Williams, History of the Rain
Raptures could be little or large, could come one after the other in a torrent, or singly and separated by long dullness. For him life was a constant drama of seeing and blindness, but, when seeing, the world would suddenly seem to him laden.
Niall Williams, History of the Rain
in that largeness of heart, that capacity for feeling and desire and passion, there's some kind of holiness.
Niall Williams, History of the Rain
So the truth is he didn't fall in love either, he fell into Faith
Niall Williams, History of the Rain
Some people are just that good, they have this soldier-saint part of them intact and it takes your breath because you keep forgetting human beings can sometimes be paragons.
Niall Williams, History of the Rain