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"We often write our poems as if they were our last words."

"I replaced doomscrolling with the company of fractal machine elves dwelling on the other side of a chrysanthemum-like mandala. Here’s what happened" —@rmhaines

"...deep inside stalactite town there were these big huntsmen spiders gripping slabs of rock."

"Prophecy

I shall die hidden in a hut
In the middle of an alder wood,
With the back door blind and bolted shut,
And the front door locked for good.

I shall lie folded like a saint,
Lapped in a scented linen sheet
On a bedstead striped with bright-blue paint,
Narrow and cold and neat.

The midnight will be glassy black
Behind the panes, with wind about
To set his mouth against a crack
And blow the candle out."

—Elinor Wylie

"I knew from dialectical philosophy that certain aporias can’t be resolved through contemplation alone, so as an experiment, I decided to live my life as though I were autistic, and I found that doing so generally improved being alive for me in pretty profound ways, which convinced me that “identity” is kind of a pointless thing to think about."