“Lies will flow from my lips, but there may perhaps be some truth mixed up with them; it is for you to seek out this truth and decide whether any part of it is worth keeping.”—Virginia Woolf, from A Room Of One’s Own (via c-ovet)
46 For if you love those who love you, what reward do you have? Do not even the tax collectors do the same? 47 And if you greet only your brothers,  what more are you doing than others? Do not even the Gentiles do the same? 48 You therefore must be perfect, as your heavenly Father is perfect.
“You did not choose me, but I chose you and appointed you that you should go and bear fruit and that your fruit should abide, so that whatever you ask the Father in my name, he may give it to you.”—John 15:16
The secret to dying is to breathe unconditionally. I stretch out my hide to catch all the trees in the world. Let each limb become its own fairy tale. Come, sun. Lather yourself against my eyelids. I’ll hold all your terrific ugly.
Found poem from the Providence Poetry Slam open mic, April 4th, 2013
Remember watching the towers, blue memories, old bench. Now your absence is circling my feet. The years haven’t left my body. Hoping there is enough me left to blossom, fistfuls of yes til the ink runs dry– if only the dregs of anger. I am a wind of asphalt left fighting all the wrong wars. Quick to dispute flesh. I grave- rob tragedy. Caption my petty crimes as a throne. But solitude is a charitable toxin. Breath: a maddening peace. So I listen as all my casualties are lassoed around my inhale. They owe me nothing. But how loud: to love like steel on steel on bone.
“Observe the herd which is grazing beside you. It does not know what yesterday or today is. It springs around, eats, rests, digests, jumps up again, and so from morning to night and from day to day, with its likes and dislikes closely tied to the peg of the moment, and thus is neither melancholy nor weary. To witness this is difficult for man, because he boasts to himself that his human condition is better than the beast’s and yet looks with jealousy at its happiness. For he wishes only to live like the beast, neither weary with things nor in pain, and yet he wants it in vain, because he does not desire it as the animal does.”—Friedrich Nietzsche, On the Use and Abuse of History for Life (via c-ovet)
“The experience I learned was that … if you leave decision to the public, you can be killed… I felt really violated: they cut my clothes, stuck rose thorns in my stomach, one person aimed the gun at my head, and another took it away. It created an aggressive atmosphere. After exactly 6…
“Who is wise and understanding among you? Let them show it by their good life, by deeds done in the humility that comes from wisdom. But if you harbor bitter envy and selfish ambition in your hearts, do not boast about it or deny the truth. Such “wisdom” does not come down from heaven but is earthly, unspiritual, demonic. For where you have envy and selfish ambition, there you find disorder and every evil practice. But the wisdom that comes from heaven is first of all pure; then peace-loving, considerate, submissive, full of mercy and good fruit, impartial and sincere. Peacemakers who sow in peace reap a harvest of righteousness.”—John 3: 13-18
last night, i woke myself up sleep-talking. “mo? mo?” (what? what?) was what i was just saying in my dream. i had never caught myself in the act of doing that before. and i rarely remember any of my dreams. but this one—oh my god—i remembered so vividly because i had just been living in it. i hated that i woke up from it… and that i couldn’t go back to sleep no matter how hard i tried. it was beautiful. the night had fallen and i was tucked so nicely in bed (just like i was in real life—and i wasn’t cold) listening to a guy next to me, this kurt cobain-look-alike (such a pretty, kind face), play his guitar. his bed was right across from mine. i remember thinking, “wow it’s surprising that mom let me share my room with this guy…” because i was still home. ?? lights were off, but i could still see him through the moon light coming in through the window. he did this cheesy guitar move, where you play it from behind the back… but it didn’t look or sound cheesy to me. the song he played on the guitar was actually heart wrenching. ?? i remember feeling so happy in that moment. to be hearing such good live music in bed. and wished that he would never stop being my roommate. once the song was over, he got ready for bed. it was like one of those moments during sleepover, where it’s definitely time for bed, but nobody really wants to go to sleep. i guess he didn’t either. he started talking to me in the dark, but i couldn’t understand anything he was saying.
"mo?" why i asked him in korean is beyond me.
i did listen to erbarme dich before bed that night, which might explain a lot of ??s.