Marianne Moore’s strange, sad childhood: “Mary [her mother] established a pattern whereby Marianne, in family conversations and correspondence, was invariably referred to as a boy and identified only with male pronouns. Furthermore, Mary encouraged the siblings to regard each other as ‘lovers,’ and to think of her as their ‘lover,’ too.”
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I’m not the girl your mother warns you about.
I won’t kiss your best friend or break your heart.
I won’t make you choose between what you love to do & me.
I’m not cold. I’m not reckless.
I’m the girl your father mentions when your mom’s not around.
I’m the girl that gets away.
I will love you more than anything.
I will kiss you when you cry.
I will stand by your side until you decide otherwise.
And you’re just like your father, so you will.
You’ll let me go & I won’t look back,
But you will.
I promise you, you will.
I’m that girl.
And I would always text back, ‘BTB’ - bring that booty.
—Darryl Philbin, The Office
Nicolas Poussin, Et in Arcadia ego, 1637-38, oil on canvas, 121 x 185 cm, Musée du Louvre, Paris
A group of shepherds dressed in classical attire surround a large stone tomb. Two of these figures point to a memorial inscription on the front of the tomb: Et in Arcadia ego. This roughly translates as ‘Even in Arcadia, I am’, which is read as a reference to death’s ever-existing presence, even in paradise.
"Et in Arcadia ego" is future tattoo. So. Excite.
I no longer have the energy for meaningless friendships, forced interactions or unnecessary conversations. If we don’t vibrate on the same frequency there’s just no reason for us to waste our time. I’d rather have no one and wait for substance than to not feel someone and fake the funk.
Emotions, in my experience, aren’t covered by single words. I don’t believe in “sadness,” “joy,” or “regret.” Maybe the best proof that language is patriarchal is that it oversimplifies feeling. I’d like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic traincar constructions like, say, “the happiness that attends disaster” or “the disappointment of sleeping with one’s fantasy.”
—Middlesex, Jeffery Eugenides
It’s about misunderstandings between people and places, being disconnected and looking for moments of connection. There are so many moments in life when people don’t say what they mean, when they are just missing each other, waiting to run into each other in a hallway.
Current problem: I am not reading enough Rumi.