Found In Anne Carson’s Plainwater: Essays And Poetry

I’ve been thinking about the way, when you walk / down a crowded aisle, people pull in their legs / to let you by. Or how strangers still say “bless you” / when someone sneezes, a leftover / from the Bubonic plague. “Don’t die,” we are saying. / And sometimes, when you spill lemons / from your grocery bag, someone else will help you/ pick them up. Mostly, we don’t want to harm each other. / We want to be handed our cup of coffee hot, / and to say thank you to the person handing it. To smile / at them and for them to smile back. For the waitress / to call us honey when she sets down the bowl of clam chowder, / and for the driver in the red pick-up truck to let us pass. / We have so little of each other, now. So far / from tribe and fire. Only these brief moments of exchange. / What if they are the true dwelling of the holy, these / fleeting temples we make together when we say, “Here, / have my seat,” “Go ahead — you first,” “I like your hat.”

— Small Kindnesses, Danusha Laméris

“I’m in this with you.” 

Art by @kalvzr. 

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A passion for knowlege and learning

NADEREH ABDELAHYEVA in The Silence (dir. Mohsen Makhmalbaf, 1998, Iran, Tajikistan, France)

“Makhmalbaf has said that this scene was inspired by a poem of Forugh Farrokhzad (the popular female poet who died in 1967). Eric Egan has located this poem in which there is a movement from ‘the girl who coloured her cheeks with geranium petals’ to ‘a lonely woman.’ However, it seems that Makhmalbaf remains with the young girl who decorates herself, and who is still in the garden, enjoying paradise. She is not yet ‘a lonely woman’, rather she is enjoying the moment and celebrating life…” [Lloyd Ridgeon, “Listening for an ‘Authentic’ Iran: Mohsen Makhmalbaf’s The Silence/Sokut]

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Happy pride month everyone!🤗

Happy Pride Month, Tumblr!

You know what it’s like to finally meet someone your age who gets you? Love, it’s not finding your perfect half. It’s the trying, and reaching, and falling.

THE HALF OF IT (2020) dir. Alice Wu

When Franz Kafka said You are the knife I turn inside myself; that is love. That, my dear, is love, and Richard Jackson said It was a mistake to keep this single knife in my heart so long, but it is my knife, and my heart, too.