Where I went, no one could follow. Yet someone managed to hold my hand.
You started out
as a curious traveler inside the
of my body.
You inhabited the first vein.
You moved on to the main
Then you became
my very own
Oniisama e…, episode 12: “The Scar”
My real self wanders elsewhere, far away, wanders on and on invisibly and has nothing to do with my life.
Why must one talk? Often one shouldn’t talk, but live in silence. The more one talks, the less the words mean.
When you start to think of the arts as not this thing that is going to get you somewhere in terms of becoming an artist or becoming famous or whatever it is that people do, but rather a way of making being in the world not just bearable, but fascinating, then it starts to get interesting again.
Judging the mistakes of strangers is an easy thing to do - and it feels pretty good.
whenever i am out somewhere there is a 99% chance i am thinking about going home and sleeping
“Words bother me. I think it is why I am a poet. I keep trying to force myself to speak of the things that remain mute inside. My poems only come when I have almost lost the ability to utter a word. To speak, in a way, of the unspeakable. To make an object out of the chaos … To say what? A final cry into the void.”
—Anne Sexton, from a letter to Dennis Farrell, August 2, 1963