labour of lacey

Artwork and Embroidery
Art I Like
Writing I Like
Ladeez

#writing i like

Look, the trees
are turning
their own bodies
into pillars 

of light,
are giving off the rich
fragrance of cinnamon
and fulfillment,

the long tapers
of cattails
are bursting and floating away over
the blue shoulders 

of the ponds,

and every pond,
no matter what its
name is, is 

nameless now.
Every year
everything
I have ever learned

in my lifetime
leads back to this: the fires
and the black river of loss
whose other side 

is salvation,
whose meaning
none of us will ever know.
To live in this world 

you must be able
to do three things:
to love what is mortal;
to hold it 

against your bones knowing
your own life depends on it;
and, when the time comes to let it
go,
to let it go.   

- Mary Oliver, In Blackwater Woods

“Depression is stupid and not a thing that makes me a better writer. One time I went a whole year without writing and I stayed in bed and drank. Fuck your Bukowskisms. I want sunlight and love and running down some street I’ve never been on where it’s warm and cool at the same time and I’m smiling. I want nothing to ever be bad again- and I don’t mean that I want a life free of conflict, I mean that I want a life free of meaningless conflict. Not being able to will oneself to take a shower or leave the house is meaningless. There is nothing to be gained, no lesson to be learned from that kind of life. My heart is stale, my prose is stale. Give me fire if you want to hurt me. Give me something I can taste. There’s nothing romantic or mysterious about where I am. There’s nothing here worth holding onto.”

By Joshua Espinoza (via doubtsbestally)

“Or l’absence d’une chose, ce n’est pas que cela, ce n’est pas un simple manque partiel, c’est le bouleversement de tout le reste, c’est un état nouveau qu’on ne peut prévoir dans l’ancien.”

Un amour de Swann - Marcel Proust

The best reason to live is that there is no reason to live.
I walked to your apartment in the late night.
Flowers I didn’t plant began to be flowers
and I was a color and then I was none.
Conrad said, let the train take you anywhere.
I passed all the old stops. With you I liked being nowhere
and with you I live nowhere now.

The best reason to paint is that there is no reason to paint.
Keith Haring wrote that, it could be about us.
I go into churches and I go into bars:
I feel the time stop.
To feel — you can’t stop at some point.
Stop time. Time stops you.

No one will let you through if you don’t walk your own sadness.
No one will let you touch them if you’re a person at all.

And you. You, you, you
you can read these lines in any order
because I want to leave nothing out anymore
and there’s nothing here.
Words are just words. I got nowhere.
Some new thing — everything I need to feel
I feel twice and risk three of. Some new thing —
how there’s more here without us at all.

Alex Dimitrov, from “Some New Thing (via violentwavesofemotion)

“To shift the structure of a sentence alters the meaning of that sentence, as definitely and inflexibly as the position of a camera alters the meaning of the object photographed. Many people know about camera angles now, but not so many know about sentences. The arrangement of the words matters, and the arrangement you want can be found in the picture in your mind. The picture dictates the arrangement. The picture dictates whether this will be a sentence with or without clauses, a sentence that ends hard or a dying-fall sentence, long or short, active or passive. The picture tells you how to arrange the words and the arrangement of the words tells you, or tells me, what’s going on in the picture.”

– Joan Didion (via ibegantoseevoices)

“Life continues, and some mornings, weary of the noise, discouraged by the prospect of the interminable work to keep after, sickened also by the madness of the world that leaps at you from the newspaper, finally convinced that I will not be equal to it and that I will disappoint everyone—all I want to do is sit down and wait for evening. This is what I feel like, and sometimes I yield to it.”

– Albert Camus (via heartpridetrust)