Wound From The Mouth Of A Wound, ‘Essay Fragment: Preexisting Conditions’ By Torrin A. Greathouse

0903, O.L. / Tumblr: @3lsahart / Peggy Toney Horton / September Days, In New England Fields and Woods, Rowland E. Robinson / Unknown / Alexander Theroux / Memory of Water, Reina María Rodríguez / September, Helen Hunt Jackson / Wallace Stegner / Instagram: @kjp / H. Stuart / Unknown / Unknown / Henry Rollins / Margaret Atwood / Diario Cuatro, DC de Oliveira / Virginia Woolf / Unknown / September 1st, D. E. / Beginning and ending with my death, Zeina Hashem Beck / The Whole Word and Other Stories, Ali Smith / Turquoise Silence, Sanober Khan / Victoria Erickson

'First, it means that you will be happy if you are doing your thing -- not necessarily achieving excellence, simply reaching for it -- in a life that allows you to do so. But, it also means that happiness is something we all deliver to ourselves.'

open.substack.com

Only Lisa can make Lisa happy

Norman Lear offers some words of advice to a stranger

Blossom

A ghost is perched in the middle of the lane

softly swaying in a dull grey wind;

she has bloomed but now is still

full of ghostly feathers, like cotton

sheets fresh and waiting,

a new woven straw hat 

balanced on the crowded brass hook,

pillows of clouds and endless days

with no rain but the grass is dewy eyed 

and lost in a trailing book,

flyaways cutting a boundless sight,

some days are long and grey 

but then the nights --

           -- the blossom tree outside my window

tells me when spring is here

yet it is wasted in a silent darkness

softly perched in the middle of the lane,

feathers orange in the glow of a thousand sunsets

waiting to be seen again

i am begging you all to stop treating this site like instagram if you dont want it to be content free by next year

I read to escape but then I always get trapped in a world that closely resembles mine 

16th century flower illustration PNGs.

(source: Book of Flower Studies, ca. 1510–1515)

Victor Nizovtsev, Reflections

Changeling Child

I thought jewelweed pods were fairy peas and I picked them carefully so they would not pop and spoil my gift. I laid them carefully on leaf platters, along with berries my mother told me not to eat and colorful flower petals. A perfect feast.  I had a stone circle built, a fairy circle, a castle, an altar, and there I left my offerings. Sometimes I wanted a wish in return. Sometimes I needed the fae to remember that I knew how to take care of my own kind. 

Black foggy mountains

bow beneath the legacy

of a golden sun

the memory of a memory, Katie Maria