Bouvre

Got a goal number?

I would say this is a final favorite poem, but we all know that's bullshit. A Rabbit As King of The Ghosts, by Wallace Stevens The difficulty to think at the end of day, When the shapeless shadow covers the sun And nothing is left except light on your fur— There was the cat slopping its milk all day, Fat cat, red tongue, green mind, white milk And August the most peaceful month. To be, in the grass, in the peacefullest time, Without that monument of cat, The cat forgotten in the moon; And to feel that the light is a rabbit-light, In which everything is meant for you And nothing need be explained; Then there is nothing to think of. It comes of itself; And east rushes west and west rushes down, No matter. The grass is full And full of yourself. The trees around are for you, The whole of the wideness of night is for you, A self that touches all edges, You become a self that fills the four corners of night. The red cat hides away in the fur-light And there you are humped high, humped up, You are humped higher and higher, black as stone— You sit with your head like a carving in space And the little green cat is a bug in the grass.

Also, because this poem rekindled my memory of this particular translation from Elizabeth Bishop, of the poet Carlos Drummond de Andrade, I'm going to share this as a sort of honorable mention Don't Kill Yourself Carlos, keep calm, love is what you're seeing now; today a kiss, tomorrow no kiss, day after day tomorrow's Sunday and nobody knows what will happen Monday. It's useless to resist or to commit suicide. Don't kill yourself. Don't kill yourself! Keep all of yourself for the nuptials coming nobody knows when, that is, if they ever come. Love, Carlos, tellurian, spent the night with you, and now your insides are raising an ineffable racket, prayers, victrolas, saints crossing themselves, ads for better soap, a racket of which nobody knows the why or wherefor. In the meantime, you go on your way vertical, melancholy. You're the palm tree, you're the cry nobody heard in the theatre and all the lights went out. Love in the dark, no, love in the daylight, is always sad, sad, Carlos, my boy, but tell it to nobody, nobody knows nor shall know.

I have a lot of favorites but this came to mind as one of my favorite contemporaries Heritage By Kaveh Akbar Reyhaneh Jabbari, a 26-year-old Iranian woman, was hanged on October 25th, 2014, for killing a man who was attempting to rape her. the body is a mosque borrowed from Heaven centuries of time stain the glazed brick our skin rubs away like a chip in the middle of an hourglass sometimes I am so ashamed of my sentience how little it matters angels don't care about humility you shaved your head spent eleven days half-starved in solitary and not a single divine trumpet wept into song now it's lonely all over I'm becoming more a vessel of memories than a person it's a myth that love lives in the heart it lives in the throat we push it out when we speak when we gasp we take a little for ourselves in books love can be war-ending a soldier drops his sword to lie forking oysters into his enemy's mouth in life we hold love up to the light to marvel at its impotence you said in a letter to Sholeh you weren't even killing the roaches in your cell that you would take them up by their antennae and flick them through the bars into a courtyard where you could see men hammering long planks of cypress into gallows the same men who years before threw their rings in the mud who watered them five times daily who shot blackbirds off almond branches and kissed the soil at the sight of sprouts then cursed each other when the stalks which should have licked their lips withered dryly at their knees may God beat us awake scourge our brains to life may we measure every victory by the momentary absence of pain there is no solace in history this is a gift we are given at birth a pocket we fold into at death goodbye now you mountain you armada of flowers you entire miserable decade in a lump in my throat despite all our endlessly rehearsed rituals of mercy it was you we sent on

Even with insects— some can sing, some can’t. - Issa

For real, I'm very conscious about the amount of consumption myself, but sometimes I just like to have a well-disguised drink while I stroll

I'm always trying to read more. It'll always be my resolution. This upcoming year, I'm focusing on reading more literary journals. I've got several books already on hold, but so much incredible work is being put out by journals, and I'm missing a lot of it.

Sounds like a chemical romance.

Trains are more reasonable on the east coast. expensive and infrequently running on the west coast, unfortunately. At least by comparison I do love them tho

Nah I'm a dumb bitch but not that dumb

A double win is the pun of the day. Also deffo not legal here

Nah, it was like, "Merry Christmas! Have a white claw with vodka for the road!" And the drama that occurred on the phone was the only drama all day, minus my internal drama of getting deadnamed and misgendered all afternoon and evening

I'm talking about my mom offering a drink for riding passenger on the road, not just drinking

But here we are, Christmas day, and mom offers me a white claw + vodka in a lidded Seahawks cup for the trip ahead of us, while my stepdad raises his voice at another relative for being an idiot. Happy holidays y'all.

I day drank, joined a friend running a free meal get-together for the community, met some new people, went home and ate with more friends. Played a few rounds of werewolf. It was one of my favorite Thanksgivings thus far.

I mean, I'm sure it for a pretty long while but to be sure I had it long enough to be remembered is not likely

It's the nonbinary designation. Several states recognize it. So yes, planet x

In other news, I told my mom:

I know how they relate. However, I will not say.

Today, I changed my gender designation to X. What do these two things have to do with one another? The last thing he ever said to me was to keep being me, even if for only me and nobody else. So here I am, crying because I am still doing what I can to live by his words, and knowing--were he still alive--he would have been the first people to know about it.

Can confirm @Rogue_Alphonse is a bunch of fun. I'd say I wouldn't mind meeting the whole lot of yous. We might not be interesting to one another, but it's difficult to gauge who people really are, character-wise, from the boards, so I'm sure I'd be pleasantly surprised by many of you. However, for the sake of the thread: a short list: @stilgar @Poof @SorceressPol @empty

And the Neo Tokyo games take place in 2020