Do you think its possible
that some people
are born to give
more love
than they will ever
get back
in return?
Tyler Knott Gregson

I don’t want to hear the answer to this question.

(via la-rinascente)

I.

Again I return to that leaning barn of whitewash
and wind-warped rafters, weathervane that never spun,

rim-rust that rejected our free-throws and hovered,
a ratty halo, over the tenuous forts of February—

so much repacked snowmelt shadowed by that
squatters’ shack where they fought over how long

our mother would outlast a rural doc’s diagnosis.
When in my seventh year they came with stretchers

and sirens, we waited in the truck. You distracted me
with the atlas from the glove box, how finely it unfolded

like all the tomorrows I sensed were not to come.
But it’s the barn I remember, whistling like a cavity

at the end of our drive. And most of all, that you
heard it, too. That you heard it, but did not flinch.

II.

Ragweed that grew around silos, dead snakes
between turnip rows, the gnats who rose in waves

from the knife-edge of sun and field: all these
went before us. So, too, she who clipped coupons

and made us wear our stocking caps no matter
how it mussed our hair. Brother, I lied when I said

I didn’t notice the baby’s fist of your lymph nodes,
over-swell of white blood cells roused to fight

what isn’t there. This is the only way I know
to repay you: to hide my dumb lies, and this poem,

and these pagan tears, until the last barn owl
shrivels to dust and it no longer matters to do so.

FOR MY BROTHER by Michael Meyerhofer

Eu Não Quero Voltar Sozinho (I Don’t Want to Go Back Alone) (2010)

Let us forget with generosity those who cannot love us.
Pablo Neruda

Take Me To Church - Sinéad O’Connor

Oh, Take me to church,
I’ve done so many bad things that hurts
yeah, Take me to church,
but not the ones that hurt

I’m sorry. He hurt me too.
 Six Word Story
Dane Dehaan

Dane Dehaan

In the church of my heart the choir is on fire.
(In the heart’s chapel the choir loft catches fire!) - Vladimir Vladimirovich Mayakovsky
You cannot find peace by avoiding life, Leonard.
Virginia Woolf in The Hours (2002)

When great trees fall,
rocks on distant hills shudder,
lions hunker down
in tall grasses,
and even elephants
lumber after safety.

When great trees fall
in forests,
small things recoil into silence,
their senses
eroded beyond fear.

When great souls die,
the air around us becomes
light, rare, sterile.
We breathe, briefly.
Our eyes, briefly,
see with
a hurtful clarity.
Our memory, suddenly sharpened,
examines,
gnaws on kind words
unsaid,
promised walks
never taken.

Great souls die and
our reality, bound to
them, takes leave of us.
Our souls,
dependent upon their
nurture,
now shrink, wizened.
Our minds, formed
and informed by their
radiance,
fall away.
We are not so much maddened
as reduced to the unutterable ignorance
of dark, cold
caves.

And when great souls die,
after a period peace blooms,
slowly and always
irregularly. Spaces fill
with a kind of
soothing electric vibration.
Our senses, restored, never
to be the same, whisper to us.
They existed. They existed.
We can be. Be and be
better. For they existed.”

Maya Angelou, Celebrations: Rituals of Peace And Prayer
When Great Trees Fall

James Dean visits Marlon Brando on the set of “Desiree”, 1954.

De rouille et d’os (Rust and Bone) (2012)

De rouille et d’os (Rust and Bone) (2012)