In Love With The Idea Of Rhythm, In Music, In Poems, In Stories, In The Quiet Breathing Of Stray Dogs,

my activeness on tumblr directly correlates to how much i should not be on tumblr in this moment

Rained yesterday. went upstairs and sat on a wall for the best part of an hour with my legs folded and eyes closed. spiritual experience. 

Anne Carson, from “The Glass Essay” (Glass, Irony, and God)

“you can’t forget your mother tongue” okay but have you considered bilinguals and polyglots whose first language isn’t english and whose development during adolescence was shaped by consuming content and media only in english and have ever since viewed that second language, foreign to their own, as a better outlet for their emotions and thoughts? as Yiyun Li said “it is hard to feel in an adopted language, yet impossible in my native language.”

As punishment for his sins, a human is sentenced to battle endlessly against hordes of demons with nothing but a knife. Satan’s court laughs at him for a few thousand years… until he starts winning the battles. Then they start screaming in terror.

I think the human condition is just finding magic in the compositions of people's mundanity. Knowing they love strawberry perfumes and aloe moisturizers, knowing their favourite ice-cream flavours and the song they can sing in their sleep, gosh knowing their sleep schedules and sharing dreams during breakfast. Knowing the motifs of their grief and the childhood stories behind the swings, the joy of knowing how they completed their day with 15 math problems, one incomplete art assignment, a sandwich for breakfast, a kind smile of a stranger who passed them, and not to mention dropping their phone 5 times. The inherent comfort in knowing the stories inside their kitchen, where the glasses are kept with their favorite mug adorning a Studio Ghilbi character and why they eat noodles in a dented red bowl. Their heat/cold tolerance, their spice tolerance, coffee orders and their favourite snack aisle at the grocery store. The art accounts they follow and their comfort youtube videos and their unhinged coping mechanisms. Oh the mortifying ordeal to be known but oh the gratifying relief in being known. Comfort lies in these compositions of mundanity. I think love hides in mundanity and I think magic is just being human, just being unfiltered like toothpaste stains pajamas, just being in the presence of each other

Literary history that happened on 8 July

while reading virginia woolf in class, my university professor mentioned how most victorian women often wrote about going to the sea and one of the most common theories behind it was that the sea symbolises a mother's womb and hence, their desire to crawl back into it. i wonder why, even to this day, we all find a sense of solitude by the sea, almost as if the world around us doesn't exist.