modern literature is great but only Emily Brontë, feral, cloistered and being slowly poisoned, could have written the line “I wish I were a girl again, half-savage and hardy, and free.”
Romanticize your life. Write letters by hand. Light the expensive candles. Play film soundtracks while you work. The world is full of heartache but there’s joy in seeing yourself as part of a story being written, in finding the hidden glory at the back of things.
call me crazy but I want a society where everyone from the artist to the janitor is paid a living wage, where creative hobbies and careers aren’t being stolen by machines, where poetry and music and literature are celebrated and respected.
“how can you celebrate Hallowe’en when the world is on fire?” because fantasy is good, because stories are good, because celebrating the imagination is an act of resistance in a joyless world.
call me controversial but I believe school lunch should be free, no book should be banned, no one should have to work four jobs to afford a one-bedroom apartment, and communities should be walkable.
me: I have a bit of free time, maybe I could do some reading
my brain: or you could worry about literally everything
me: or I could worry about literally everything
Eighteen months into this pandemic, so many people I know are still feeling so down (myself included). One friend put it this way: the bad things are disproportionately destabilizing and the good things are insufficiently fortifying. Anyone else feeling this way?
One time a writer friend of mine got too drunk and sobbed bc she said there were too many books in the world she wouldn’t have time to read, and this guy down the bar said, ladies—he isn’t worth it and my friend yelled IM CRYING ABOUT BOOKS and that shut the guy up
Me: “Hey, body, do we need water? No? Ok. Food? Meds? Sleep? Vitamins? Rum?? Edibles ???”
Body: *crickets*
Me: “Okayyyy… Mind?”
Mind: *banging pots and pans together like a mad ratfink cackling maniacally*
Me: “I’ll just… lie down and check back later.” 🤷♀️