The Collective Life That Was Manifested In War, Worship, The Forum, Knew No Division Between What Was

Never finish a war without starting another.

Richard Siken, Birds Hover the Trampled Field

The room will explode when I sit at the side of your bed and you talk to me. I don't hear your words: your voice reverberates against my body like another kind of caress

Anaïs Nin, Henry and June

While I haven’t updated this blog in a bit (I finished my MSc degree which left little room for enjoyment reading), I have begun to pleasure read again (I cannot describe how much I’ve missed Austen) and will be updating shortly.

I also am fully planning on diving headfirst into religious studies as a hobby in 2024, so forthcoming content will reflect this in due time.

the light is not something you see, exactly. You don't look at it, or breathe, you feel a pressure but you don't look. It is like being in the same room as a man you love. Other people are in the room. He may be smoking a cigarette. And you know you are not strong enough to look at him (yet) although the fact that he is there, silent and absent beside a thin wisp of cigarette smoke, hammers you. You rest your chin on your hand, like a saint on a pillar. Moments elongate and drop. A radiance is hitting your skin from somewhere, every nerve begins to burn outward through the surface, your lungs float in a substance like rage, sweet as rage, no! - don't look.

Anne Carson, Kinds of Water

‘Agamemnon,’ Aeschylus (translated by Anne Carson)

Every moon will be a moon of surrender

Ada Limón, The Noisiness of Sleep

Some of the first photographs ever taken inside the Lascaux caves (France, 1947).

how deeply faithless we are, which is

to say: how true we are to ourselves

- Marina Tsvetaeva

thinking about Kait Rokowski writing, "nothing ever ends poetically, it ends and we turn it into poetry. all that blood was never once beautiful. it was just red." and losing it