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Then write a poem about the fact
That you've never been faithful to anyone,
Always kept one hand feeling along the walls
For a knob, a hinge, a latch
To release the pressure in the chamber

— Seema. Raza from "permission," A constellation of half-lives
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The birds insist on pecking the wooded dark. The wooded dark
pecks back. It is time to show the universe what you are capable of,
says my horoscope, increasingly insistent this month.
But what I am capable of is staring

at the salt accident on the coffee table & thinking,
What sad salt. I admire my horoscope
for its conviction. I envy its consistency. Every day. Every day,
there is a future to be aggressively vaguer about.

Earlier today, outside the cabin, the sudden deer were a supreme
headache of beauty. Don’t they know I am trying to be alone
& at peace? In theory I am alone & really I am hidden,
which is a fine temporary substitute for peace, except I still

have email, which is how I receive my horoscope, & even here
in the wooded dark I receive yet another email mistaking me
for another Chen. I add this to a folder, which also includes
emails sent to my address but addressed to Chang,

Chin, Cheung. Once, in a Starbucks, the cashier
was convinced I was Chad. Once, in a Starbucks, the cashier
did not quite finish the n on my Chen, & when my tall mocha was ready,
they called out for Cher. I preferred this by far, but began to think

the problem was Starbucks. Why can’t you see me? Why can’t I stop
needing you to see me?
For someone who looks like you
to look at me, even as the coffee accident
is happening to my second favorite shirt?

In my wooded dark, I try insisting on a supremely tall,
never-lonely someone. But every kind of someone needs
someone else to insist with. I need. If not the you
I have memorized & recited & mistaken

for the universe—another you.

—Chen Chen, Nature poem.
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I Bet on Losing Dogs
Mitski
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"I'm waiting for you, I'm waiting for the evening calm, I'm waiting for our time, the oblique light, this pause between day and night. Peace will come, surely. But I can imagine no other peace than that of our two bodies bound together, of our gaze given over to each other."

- Albert Camus to Maria Casarès, Correspondance, July 17, 1949.
"This silence closes my mouth and twists my heart. I love you, I love you in vain, alone, in a terrible cold."

- Albert Camus to Maria Casarès, Correspondence, August 16, 1949.
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F U L L ♪
Photo
I rmmr reading this play earlier this year and I liked it SO much, the dialogue was so raw and beautiful so here's an annotated version in case you want to read it
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Forwarded from Zaezi
- الرساله ؛ سلام 👋
عندك اي مسرحيات اخرى عن الكتاب المقدس تكون قاريها مسبقًا ؟
Zaezi
- الرساله ؛ سلام 👋 عندك اي مسرحيات اخرى عن الكتاب المقدس تكون قاريها مسبقًا ؟
الا مسرحيات؟ لو عادي forms ثانية من الأدب؟
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2025/07/09 05:30:41
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