wearenotjustnumbers2:

Screams and cries for help can be heard from AL Shati refugee camp in gaza.

Israel is using white phosphorus to bomb gaza. It’s illegal to utilize in war for very obvious reasons. The smoke caused by it melts your skin and internal organs. It’s a war crime and Israel has been using it since the start to make Palestinians suffer a slow painful death, as if the missiles aren’t enough.

Not to mention other weapons they’re experimenting on gaza, because doctors revealed they’re seeing people with 4th degree burns and have no idea what caused it or how to treat it.

Now that gaza is silent, be their voice. Make an effort to stop this.

(via blogtruenorth)

firstfullmoon:

“It is early morning, bruised about the eyes.”

— Julia Armfield, from “salt slow,” in salt slow

(via soracities)

soracities:

“A tongue will wrestle its mouth to death and lose— language is a cemetery.”

— Natalie Diaz, “Cloud Watching”

“Where do words come from? They come from the dead. We inherit them. Borrow them. Use them for a time to bring the dead to life.”

— Ruth Ozeki, A Tale for the Time Being

“All the dead voices.
They make a noise like wings.
Like leaves.
Like sand.
Like leaves.”

— Samuel Beckett, Waiting for Godot

“Do they sense it, these dead writers, when their books are read? Does a pinprick of light appear in their darkness? Is their soul stirred by the feather touch of another mind reading theirs?”

— Diane Setterfield, The Thirteenth Tale

“The sentence is adorned with all of its dead.” 

— Jacques Derrida, Cinders

“There are no people in what I’ve written. Only ghosts.”

— Susan Sontag, Reborn: Early Diaries, 1947-1963

(via soracities)

weltenwellen:

“We met our wounds in each other’s bodies.”

— Lidia Yuknavitch, from “The Chronology of Water: A Memoir,” wr. c. 2011

(via soracities)

soracities:

ALT

Marina Tsvetaeva, excerpt from Poem of the End, Selected Poems (trans. Elaine Feinstein, with Angela Livingstone) [ID’d]

soracities:

A poem, being an instance of language, hence essentially dialogue, may be a letter in a bottle thrown out to sea with the—surely not always strong—hope that it may somehow wash up somewhere, perhaps on a shoreline of the heart.

—Paul Celan, from “Speech on the Occasion of Receiving the Literature Prize of the Free Hanseatic City of Bremen” (1958), trans. Rosmarie Waldrop

soracities:

ALT

Marina Tsvetaeva,from “My ear attends to you”, Selected Poems (trans. Elaine Feinstein, with Maxwell Shorter) [ID’d]

metamorphesque:

This is how I lived back then– through books. I locked myself into their stories, dreamt of their characters at night, pretended to be them. They were my armour against the hard edges of reality.  

― Tomasz Jedrowski, Swimming in the Dark

(via soracities)

soracities:

ALT

Marina Tsvetaeva, excerpt from Poem of the End, Selected Poems (trans. Elaine Feinstein, with Angela Livingstone) [ID’d]

delusyum:

“If I had to describe my current state of existence, I would say that I am a cyst of memory.”

— — DAN SIMMONS (A Winter Haunting)

(via thrvrnd)

petrichour:

Don’t bend; don’t water it down; don’t try to make it logical; don’t edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.

Franz Kafka

(Source: petrichour)

orphic-sapphira:

“He’s more myself than I am.

Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.”

– Emily Brontë, Wuthering Heights.

(via makeloveoutofwords)

funeral:

“Wherever you haunt earth, you are shaped and bright As the true ghost of my loss.”

— Ted Hughes in a letter to Sylvia Plath, April 1956

(via makeloveoutofwords)

thegirlthatcriesacademia:

Spooky Paintings by Dillon Samuelson // Ingmar Bergman, from the film Ansiktet ( Svensk Filmindustri, 1958)

(via makeloveoutofwords)