( via / via )

Pillow studies.

"AI fills the need for ambient consumption, which is a thing we don’t talk about nearly enough. We’re already deep in an era of passive listening, watching, and, dare I say, reading, which doesn’t exactly privilege the human behind the art, which is not about filling silence." --@joshuarothes

Room 👁️11👁️.

"ONCE IN VINES

I buried August in the vines and wept,
Wind at my back in leaves of mawkish mourning.
Pressing my lips a last time to the root,
I felt the earth sway cold into the north.

I shuddered as the monumental dark
Sank heavy to the orchard of the blood,
While from the fallen apple sang the worm
To welcome in the phantasm of the air.

What does it matter how you prune your eyes,
A voice rang from the cloud: You konw me still.
My cankered harvest soon devours yours;
Soon you will drink the ripeness of my will.

Run, child, to the trees! I cried,
But could not stand. Then at my knees,
As from the mold or weed, a leper grew.
Weeping, the old man bent to kiss my hand."

--Lorita Whitehead, First Poems (1962)

"As fine sand sprays and stings..."

"I'm starting to think participating in the arbitrariness of the writing industry (submitting to journals, contests, grants, etc.) has a disturbing similarity to gambling addiction. Usually you lose and get rejected, but you keep playing for that rare, elusive jackpot acceptance." --@writingandrea

"Unimaginable destruction...including our health centre..." (via @gretathunberg)