My Activeness On Tumblr Directly Correlates To How Much I Should Not Be On Tumblr In This Moment

It’s odd how the only time you are hit with a profound feeling of despair or any kind of hopelessness is when you either have nothing to do or when you are at least not actively engaged in something, I’ve had people tell me that that is why they keep themselves busy all the time, boredom breeds nihilism, etc. But isn’t that also implying - basically acknowledging, however unconscious that might be - that without the presence of an ever hovering distraction, everything is essentially arbitrary ? ( i.e the current state of matters is so terrible that you need a constant diversion to keep from falling into depression) How inattentive do you need to be to not notice that ? Maybe, just maybe, everyone is always in a hurry because of this need for their thoughts to revolve around some external thing ? Societal Indoctrination of behaviour ? Inadvertent familial conditioning ? What is it ?

“Perhaps dawn is lovelier than twilight, allusive of the light that arises from darkness, the peaceful assurance that night does not last forever. Or the cold drawing away of the veil, the assertion that disturbance always mars the idyllic dream of nightfall.”

“Dreams of a furnace, the warmth of the ember flickering upon the brick wall covered in the scrawls of innocent childhood, heavy clouds spread over the evening fading away into twilight, the eternal impermanence of the gently touching darkness and light surrounded the townhouse, awaiting the shrill shattering of the heart - held together and wrenched apart - by the forsaken ties of lost loves. will not a shard of glass pierce the trembling heart and end its agony, once and for all? And in the indifference of the glowering sky laid the ruin of kingdoms gone and kingdoms to come. The nymphs of wind care not about your sorrow, the angel of death and the moon kissed and parted last before the beginning of eternity. Run vainly to language and lay your wasted hands and tear stained face upon her breast, and spare nature her indifference.”

For those of you who asked, here’s a list of some of my favourite poems:

Soleil et Chair (Sun and Flesh), Arthur Rimbaud Litany, Rebecca Linderberg A Myth of Devotion, Louise Glück L’Après-Midi d’un Faune (The Afternoon of The Faun), Stéphane Mallarmé Fever 103°, Sylvia Plath It’s No Use, Sappho (tr. Barnard) Orpheus. Eurydice. Hermes, Rainer Maria Rilke The Glass Essay, Anne Carson Alchimie du Verbe (Alchemy of the Word), Arthur Rimbaud I Will Wade Out, E. E. Cummings Mrs. Beast, Carol Ann Duffy Elsa au Miroir (Elsa at The Mirror), Louis Aragon To Fanny, John Keats The First Elegy, Rainer Maria Rilke Persephone The Wanderer (I), Louise Glück Mad Girl Love Song, Sylvia Plath He Seems to Me, Sappho (tr. Carson) F. de Samara to A. G. A., Emily Brontë Pietà, Rainer Maria Rilke (and its many translations) To Proserpine (Orphic Hymn), Anonymous The Unicorn, Angela Carter Saying Your Names, Richard Siken Apparition, Stéphane Mallarmé The Tiger, Pablo Neruda Lady Lazarus, Sylvia Plath Clair de Lune, Roland Leighton I Like My Body When, E. E. Cummings When We With Sappho, Kenneth Rexroth Look On This Picture and On This, Christina Rossetti Nacciyar Tirumoli, Andal (tr. Sarukkai Chabria) Zuleikha, Rumi Marathon, Louise Glück The Red Poppy, Louise Glück The Concert of Hyacinths, Odysseus Elytis (tr. by Kimon Friar) Song for an Ancient City, Amal El-Mohtar Prayers in a Temple, Yusuf al-Khal (tr. by Abdullah al-Udhari) The Convent Threshold, Christina Rossetti Letter to Husband, Emily Berry my love, E. E. Cummings Glanmore Sonnet X, Seamus Heaney Plead for Me, Emily Brontë

Rained yesterday. went upstairs and sat on a wall for the best part of an hour with my legs folded and eyes closed. spiritual experience. 

Evening at the Balcony

I smoke the night from my neighbour's pipe

When the smell of baking bread and piano pieces

Are gone down with the sun, and the cloud creases

Over the sea of mountains where lights rest dove-like

I rise from a wasted pile of blankets and books for a hike

To the balcony. I stop at the corolla vines and stand by,

And wait with the jackdaws until the smoke billows up to the sky.

One night, sharing unseen my neighbour's cigarette

And their voices that lend themselves to a radio babble

I watched a single star warmed by the clouds and space rubble

It fluttered, almost clattered so bright

Its fire spilled and burned the balmy night.

One by one shreds of clouds caught spark and rushed away

And believe me when I say the moon hid under the trees today.

Tonight again, I waited at the moon for the shared smoke

And tonight I found a friend in the fig tree, it spoke

To me as I would have thought it might

But at its wild branches rustling the jackdaws took to flight

Yet alone I wasn't, for the purple tree and I

Could speak as old friends, warming up by and by

It knows now all the stale words and song

That fumes in my head all evening long.

In turn I have mapped out its lost heart.

- pollosky-in-blue

In the incomprehensible maze of personhood, somewhere in me there is a tangle whose causal knot is you.

“you can’t forget your mother tongue” okay but have you considered bilinguals and polyglots whose first language isn’t english and whose development during adolescence was shaped by consuming content and media only in english and have ever since viewed that second language, foreign to their own, as a better outlet for their emotions and thoughts? as Yiyun Li said “it is hard to feel in an adopted language, yet impossible in my native language.”

Salman Rushdie is inside my head and I can’t make him stop talking.

Ink blue skies smudge warmly the glow of the crescent moon,

Alone and hungry I haunt the night, revelling

in the Presence of an ever growing

Darkness, without and within.

The trees whispered approval in unison, as I watched

Wood pixies weave their ephemeral lace

to throw over the red carnation that stands

frozen in a ray of thwarted sunshine. Tell me, darling,

Will you not step out of the lane etched in stone?

Footfalls, wearied and cautious, along pathways treaded

by spectres once under the delusion of eternity,

A flaming hand reaches out to gently catch hold of your errant spirit,

In the daze of the ember’s flicker, stumbling I walk

Into the depths of nature’s winding heart.