( via/ me )

An Inordinate Fondness for Beetles.

"The Magi

Now as at all times I can see in the mind's eye,
In their stiff, painted clothes, the pale unsatisfied ones
Appear and disappear in the blue depths of the sky
With all their ancient faces like rain-beaten stones,
And all their helms of silver hovering side by side,
And all their eyes still fixed, hoping to find once more,
Being by Calvary's turbulence unsatisfied,
The uncontrollable mystery on the bestial floor."

—William Butler Yeats

"...poems, she said in 1961, 'go surprisingly far—among strangers, around the world, even […] if they are very lucky, farther than a lifetime' ."

"TriQuarterly magazine, gasping on the floor in a pool of blood: Find the evildoer that did this to me. Find Substack. Avenge my death." —@petercbaker

The Waste Land.