( via / via )

Pycnogonid.

“For Harvest

The year turns to its rest.
Up from the earth, the fields, the early-fallen dew,
Moves the large star at evening, Arcturus low with autumn,
And summer calls in her many voices upon the frost.
I who have not seen for weeping
The plum ripen and fall, or the yellowing sheaf,
Am not unmindful now of the season that came and went,
The hours that told off freshness,
The bud and the rich leaf.
Though I turned aside before the summer
And weathered but a season of the mind,
Let me sit among you when the husk is stripped,
Let me tell by the bright grain,
Those labours in an acre of cloud and the reap of the wind.”

—Léonie Adams

"Portraying Iran as a threat is neither consistent with historical reality nor with present-day observable facts. Such a perception is the product of political and economic whims of the powerful... if a threat does not exist, it is invented."

"It's just not plausible that someone is teleporting into a waffle house because waffle houses are anchored sites of hyperreality. I don't think tarot even works in them. If he was claiming that he spatially displaced into a denny's that'd be worth investigating" —@brunodias.bsky.social

"The dream of progress, like the dream of God from which it sprang, hangs over us like an old trauma: and, at times, when we see a hand raised in the corner of our eye, we flinch."