DECEMBER 2023 (What I Was Given I Shall Never Now Forget / But My Heart Knows I'll Never Live This Again)

landscape with a blur of conquerors, richard siken

youve died a thousand times before who caaares just climb out of this grave again & again &agaian & agaian & again & again & aga

Albert Camus, letters to María Casares.

“No, I’m not the tough kind. Where are the oaths I made two years ago, on the freshly shut cover of Zarathustra? Why did I wander aimlessly in the street last night, alone, miserable because I was unable to cry and terrified at the same time that I might have been about to? Why in the evening, when I lay my head on my pillow, is it like collapsing in exhaustion after being chased?”

— Mihail Sebastian, For Two Thousand Years (trans. Philip Ó Ceallaigh)

—Albert Camus, The Myth of Sisyphus and Other Essays

Jon Ware, I Am In Eskew

“Please stop destroying what is left of your heart by constantly thinking about things that have broken you.”

— Unknown

you can hate yourself all you want but the world is beautiful and it welcomes you

You hate yourself so loudly. You hate yourself at the top of your lungs. Your loathing for yourself permeates your speech. “Sorry I’m just rambling.” “Don’t worry about it.” “Just ignore me.” “Sorry if I’m annoying you.” “Sorry I don’t make sense.” “Sorry about that.” Sorry, sorry, sorry. You act as if you have to beat everyone else to the punch. As if the punching bag is you. If you hate yourself first, if you hate yourself loudest, then nobody will hurt you. You clapped your hands over your ears and shut your eyes and balled yourself up so that you’d never have to experience people’s loathing for you. And it meant you never heard their love. You drowned it out. You screamed your hatred over it. And you never got to hear it.