( via / me )

The first truly atrocious hell in literature.

"cold moon harvest"

galenium rain
wearing grooves in rubles
dark gray Accord grackles
groggy Xmas isthmus
& i don't know to go or to stay

mild winter the morn
marking a last bastion
so bright brutal road
so easy brand's lesion
& i don't know to go or to stay

these words wander find
worn maps sudden lapsing
radio bands bode
abandonment central
& i don't know to go or to stay

thunderbolts at throats
as though wry highwayman
clowns in their clink tinsel
clog barricade staredowns
& i don't know to go or to stay

sky of portents scant
skip your benumbed grumbling
doomscroller's speed dial
destined for shroud vestment
& i don't know to go or to stay

"Published in 2014, its author, Bessel van der Kolk, has become like the Colleen Hoover of psychology." (via @karidru.bsky.social)

Read the first three [Vandermeer], want to catch up with that one [Absolution] too. I like it that he's not afraid to mess with his original idea. It's rare in a novel (unlike poetry) to feel the material pushing back against the author. Like he wanted to write one thing, but the Southern Reach wanted something very much else...

"Who knows what wonders await us in popular entertainment?"