“Everyone wants a rock bottom. Some Icarus shit. But the truth is some holes keep going, yawning, heady, one mistake becomes three: there’s always a dark darker than the dark you know.”
& isn’t this body the perfect setting / for a horror movie? & isn’t it so full of blood?
— torrin a. greathouse, from “my gender is the-glowing-fluorescent-sign-on-a-motel-in-the-middle-of-fucking-nowhere-but-all-of-the-bulbs-are-blown-out-except-a-single-red-question-mark-flickering,” published in Vanilla Sex
“⁴⁷I WANT MY SKELETON TO BE ABLE TO FIND ITS OWN HAPPINESS WHEN I AM GONE. YOU HAVE SERVED YOUR TIME. NOW GO. CHASE AFTER YOUR DREAMS. DON’T YOU DARE COME BACK. YOU ABOMINABLE DARLING. ⁴⁸I HOPE THAT YOUR SKELETON & MY SKELETON CAN BE HAPPY TOGETHER WHEN WE ARE BOTH DEAD & OTHERWISE OCCUPIED.”
— Eleanor Eli Moss, “THE BOOK OF DEATH,” from THE HOLY BIBLE
The god of dirt came up to me many times and said so many wise and delectable things; I lay on the grass listening to his dog voice, crow voice, frog voice; now he said, and now,
“Do I dare mention God in this poem?
God is wild, and not human
and when people make God human
he stares at you through the eyes of a bear
and beats his terrible bearded chest
and guffaws into the stars.”
“If we can measure
the distance of illuminated gas from the location
of our bodies, why can’t we find our dead?
Why can’t we find the nights that taunt us, images
more vivid than stars? Can’t we find the angle
between us and our grief?”
ada limón, from during the impossible age of everyone
[text id] there are so many people who’ve come before us, arrows and wagon wheels, obsidian tools, buffalo. look out at the meadow, you can almost see them, generations dissolved in the bluegrass and hay. I want to try and be terrific. even for an hour.
