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It will not budge

It’s dead in the water

Silvery bloated

On the surface

Floating Lifeless

…But I love it

I love it with my eyes

And what’s behind them

The neural web of me

Slime and sublime

Inside my skin

Behind my eyes

I love it with my heart

All of its butchered

bright redness

It’s rhythm, arrhythm,

It’s beaten immediacy

I love it with an incapacity

To ignore

An intuition of attention

A horrible compulsion

A twisted addiction

I love it with my fingertips

That itch to find it

Among the open tabs

Inside my bookmarks

My love, my only.

My dear, dear

dead poem,

That no-one

With just a mere mortal

Wisp of a glance

Will resuscitate.

Art: Kyaw Tun | Unsplash


If we had a keen vision and feeling of all ordinary human life, it would be like hearing the grass grow and the squirrel's heart beat, and we should die of that roar which lies on the other side of silence. 

George Eliot



I live in hazard and infinity. The cosmos stretches around me, meadow on meadow of galaxies, reach on reach of dark space, steppes of stars, oceanic darkness and light. There is no amenable god in it, no particular concern or particular mercy. Yet everywhere I see a living balance, a rippling of tension, an enormous yet mysterious simplicity, an endless breathing of light. And I comprehend that being is understanding that I must exist in hazard but that the whole is not in hazard. Seeing and knowing this is being conscious; accepting it is being human.

John Fowles, Aristos


“To love. To be loved. To never forget your own insignificance. To never get used to the unspeakable violence and the vulgar disparity of life around you. To seek joy in the saddest places. To pursue beauty to its lair. To never simplify what is complicated or complicate what is simple. To respect strength, never power. Above all, to watch. To try and understand. To never look away. And never, never to forget.”

Arundhati Roy

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