Less repetitive conversations, electronics, and noise. More nature, sunshine, and movement.
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A woman called Chaos, she was the earth inebriate, without form, a thing of ripped green flesh and forests in crooked wooden dance and water in a wine drunk on itself and boulders bumping into foolish clouds.
Gwendolyn MacEwen, from The Selected Poems; “Tiamut,” wr. c. 1963
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“you cup your hands and petals fold and hold water, the creases in skin mimic red canyons forgotten by misplaced tourists content to view the world with slack mouths and lazy clothes. the magic in flowers is not enough to cure your fatigue. lines under your eyes swallow you. a part of me is plucked, bashing chords as ego filler. i displace psychology. i miscount change. the ribbon you nailed to my wall hangs there waiting for a breeze. i will keep the windows closed. dust will gather at the apex. it will. it will. i will swear and move beyond yes and no. i think about the dip at the top of your lips. god damn it.”
— Stimie (via howitzerliterarysociety)
The shortest answer is doing the thing.
Ernest Hemingway
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I feel I might dissolve.
Megan Terry, from “Approaching Simone,” first produced in March 1970
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(via violentwavesofemotion)
Most people I know are devoid of the real courage of trust, trust in life’s sacred spontaneity. They all want power, but a small, personal base power: bullying. They are all bullies. They can’t trust life until they can control it. So much for them - cowards.
D. H. Lawrence, from a letter to his mother-in-law wr. c. December 1922
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(via violentwavesofemotion)
I suffer an unquenched thirst for stars.
Maurice Maeterlinck, from The Complete Poems; “Oraison Nocturne,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

