Our disrespect for thinking: someone sitting in a chair, gazing out of a window blankly, always described as ‘doing nothing’.
“I may not agree with you, but I will defend to the death your right to make an ass of yourself.”
- Oscar Wilde
We are the strain and stress of a line,
the poem’s tension singing in each black wire
of words, and between the first line and the last.
We are the angle of light that burns water,
the point of intersection that creates perspective.
I’ve never let myself describe you
and now that there’s no time left
your meaning spills out of me
like the essence of an atom cracking
on the edge of speed’s bowl,
liquid in its longing to become part of something else,
Last night I Iooked out
to the grocer’s across your street,
baskets of flowers lining the sidewalk,
trembling in the dark wind.
The gasp of paper and leaves
made me eighteen again —
nothing about the feeling had changed,
the ambush of longing October calls out.
I’m living proof
we don’t stop wanting
what we can’t have.
No matter where you are or
who you’re near,
we come up for air together.
No matter my pace or distance,
it’s you I surface to.
If you limit your choices only to what seems possible or reasonable, you disconnect yourself from what you truly want, and all that is left is compromise.
How to parent. [via]
That last one though.
I had a long conversation with an old friend today about how, somehow, Louis CK has become the most rational public voice in parenting.
I know most of you exist outside of the parenthood world and, y’know, I also do, seeing as how I am not a parent. But the amount of mothers I see judging each other for their strategies beyond “Do you love and care for your child” is really disheartening.
It’s like there’s an industry that exists to attempt to scare parents into buying books, and the strategy is “LOVING AND CARING FOR YOUR CHILD IS NOT ENOUGH! BUY THIS BOOK TO FIND OUT HOW YOU ARE DESTROYING YOUR CHILD’S LIFE! OR ELSE!”
he is possibly my favorite person ever
I have always loved the gaps, the spaces between things, as much as the things. I love staring, pondering, mulling, puttering. I love the times when someone or something is late - there’s that rich possibility of noticing more, in the meantime… Poetry calls us to pause. There is so much we overlook, while the abundance around us continues to shimmer, on its own.