Song, Allen Ginsberg

To simply enjoy warm summer days. Enjoying the shimmering of the sun on a lake. Laying in the moss. The smell of blueberries in afternoon shade.

Pulling on a warm sweater at the campfire when the night finally cools down. Millions of stars above. The rustling of an owl.

Just be, just exist. Romance with myself. Magic in books and warmth all around.

Motherfucking peace and magic. Someday I'll find my way back to it

I want motherfucking magic in life. I want romance. I want peace. I want beauty and softness. I want love and warmth.

I'd love to paint that

the lover’s almanac : part one.

I went for a walk in a privately owned forest today and realized that forests and groves in Scandinavia are symbolic of how our society works.

When I try to explain to foreigners that our society is part capitalist and part socialist they don’t get it because in their eyes the two shall never meet but I don’t think it’s that hard to understand.

Thanks to capitalism you can amass wealth and own fancy cars and a mansion with a forest but you can’t get as wealthy as in other countries like China or the US because the richer you get the more taxes you have to pay so thanks to socialism Scandinavians can’t be as poor as people in those other countries either.

I grew up poor by Danish standards but that just meant I couldn’t have fancy clothes or go on vacations and I have many memories of sitting with my little fingers on the radiator during winter because I was cold and my parents couldn’t afford to turn up the heat but I never went hungry or with holes in my shoes. I didn’t even understand that I grew up poor until I was an adult and compared childhood memories with my friends. The only people I’ve met who were poorer than me were those who had a serious drug or alcohol addiction.

And that’s why forest and groves are symbolic of that. You can be rich and own a forest but thanks to Scandinavian Right to Roam laws you have to share your forest with the public because land is wealth and you can’t hoard it like an old dragon.

'Valkyrie' by Edward Robert Hughes, c. 1915.

Things two hungarian poets from the 1840s said to each other in their letters that make me crazy:

If my soul touches you and it happens to burn you I'm not to blame... it was you who lit it on fire

I swear to you on cottage cheese and tobacco

If the people rule in poetry, so will they rule in politics and that's the goal of the century! To hell with the aristocracy!

My dear buddy,

My soul, my bastard,

My golden mouthed saintly friend,

My rowdy brother,

My lovable dummy,

If you want to see a dead Pegasus, look no further than me

I am trying to learn to smile nicely ( he did not succeed)

My dear friend, you better side of my soul

I will never forgive you for NOT writing the address on the envelope yourself. A woman's handwriting... and a black seal... dear god, the devil took him! he worked himself to death writing poems, he died! ... and then i opened your letter... Never do this again. Only use black seal vax on your death, and even then, still write the address yourself!

I'm reading (your work) for the sixth time. It's really a horrible thing. I'll need to read it again to understand just how awful it is!

Sincerely, your friend whose balls are itching

It's really good that your sore throat is gone, I can finally strangle you

Leave the dedication! Veselényi is a great man but he's still a Lord, and a poet should never dedicate ANYTHING to a Lord

I'm hugging you a 1000000000000 times!

I have been ripped from the life I was building for myself once again. The dreams, the places I was getting to know, the people I was meeting, the future I was walking towards are gone.

My own body is fighting me. And my brain often times does not work. Without my brain, and ideas and dreams, who am I?

For my mother always described me as a Tsunami. Try to stop a Tsunami, is how she'd describe me when I'd had an idea. These days I feel like little more than a puddle.

These days are also the days that I unexpectedly get to spend months with my family. I get to go to my brother's graduation. I'm not halfway across the continent.

These days I get to enjoy my mother's cooking. I get to tell her more about out who I've become. And I find out about her.

These days my father, who has never been good with words, and who never actually wanted children, offers to pay for my motorcycle license once I feel better. If it helps, he says, I'll gladly pay for it.

These days, when my legs shake and I can suddenly barely walk, my dad will grab me. Hold me up. And pretend to dance with me through the living room.

These days I will be laughing so hard I cry. Instead of bawling my eyes out.

I do that too, sometimes. Because it's. Not. Fair.

But these days, and these moments would've never happened were I not sick.

It'll get better. And even if it doesn't, I can still make a happy life for myself

I'm not ready for a relationship. I need this time alone.

But I long for letters. For discussions about books. Museum visits and afternoons spent in bookshops

For cups of tea and hot chocolate while curled up watching the rain.

For silence, and stillness and holding in front of a fire. The fire wood that we chopped.

Learning and building together.

I want someone capable. Someone calm and strong. Someone caring and kind.

I long for someone that can quiet my mind.

Someone that can keep up with me. That challenges me. That can hold space for me.

I long for someone that will love me for all the wildness of my soul.

Someone not scared by all I have to give.

With him I won't need to be small and tame

anecdote of the pig, tory adkisson // achilles & partoclus // house of dragon, 1x07 // plainwater, anne carson // ? // ?