" 'If so many songs circle round you,' Callimachus asked Delos itself, 'what kind shall I weave about you?' " (via @alinaetc.bsky.social)
"essential tremor"
Noir in rooms that only wireless fills;
sugary yonder, though there too dwells the nightmare.
A minute passes, making landscapes blur
while tomorrow filches razors for its veils.
Our things become ephemeral, no plans
possible. I shuffle next to shelves
clenched against that other blatant cranch
as somewhere far, the world’s last glacier melts.
"Hope is something we generate, not something that settles on us like a ray of sunshine."
“[C]ivilization is not destroyed by wicked people; it is not necessary that people be wicked but only that they be spineless.”
—James Baldwin via @esglaude.bsky.social
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