"Losing Touch, beautifully illustrated with drawings by Elizabeth Adams, is a moving testament to the distanced, sometimes surreal, and melancholic unwelcome new normal we are still navigating two years later."
A review of Losing Touch by @roughghosts. Thank you!
“It is an artifact inescapably involved in the world’s messiness — the world when the painting was made and the world now. Looking at paintings this way doesn’t spoil them. On the contrary,…”
Do read, “Seeing Beyond the Beauty of a Vermeer” by Teju Cole. https://t.co/p7DDyPZiBY
A crossing
They drugged the children
so they might sleep on the way.
The border was near,
an hour’s walk or so
in the dark. The world was closed:
now it lay open,
naked and exposed.
The map was all sheer edges.
You could fall from it
as if from a train.
Happy Mother’s Day to all mothers and all mothering humans. Rebecca Solnit wrote “Mother is both a noun and a verb.” and thus it can apply to more than the one person.
And an especially valuable reflection On Not Being a Mother by @cassandrabeth https://t.co/zkc5wuWe8n
@CherylStrayed I just loved Bad Sisters and hope a second season will come out soon. The danish series Rita was a good find lately. I’ve just finished all 5 seasons.
Midnight tonight marks a historical moment for Germany.
Germany Quits Nuclear Power, Ending a Decades-Long Struggle - The New York Times https://t.co/nhPrXvg5NG
I’ve just found this and I think it’s wonderful!
@alex_kozobolis - Where London Sleeps https://t.co/4hFwdoBllE
“A surreal dream like depiction of how Alex came to fall in love with the piano, through borrowing a Thelonious Monk CD from a friend.”
Illustration - Will Scobie
Big bi-weekly edition of the poetry blogging digest. Can’t be arsed to @-mention everybody on this dying platform, but here’s the link: https://t.co/kE5DtvCIHM
Switzerland.
After quite some time neglecting it, a new entry in the category #traveloque in my blog “I was not born in English” https://t.co/bALDKDoqFo
I’ve unlearned the ways
of the night. Familiar
noises seem strange,
eerie places of
fantasy, even out of
a dubious mind.
That lion’s howl must
be the wind under a bridge.
Also the zoo is
just a mile away.
You walk the city
you know, forgetting its streets.
You are heading home
to the heart of things,
hearing your own heart only.
How you lose yourself
in familiar
entrances and exists, through
passages and squares
where no one now lives.
My relationship to Twitter is ambivalent at the moment but there was a lot of love between us when I, 10 years ago this month, started writing here daily aphorisms that became a 2013 year's project and my first small poetic collection All The Words https://t.co/WyKRrrsLPt