I dream a lot. I do more painting when I’m not painting. It’s in the subconscious.
The only difference between me and you is that you think that purity and life can only come from eating the body and drinking the blood of Christ. I don’t know where it comes from.
—Walker Percy, The Last Gentleman (via enfuite)
Before, I wandered as a diversion. Now I wander seriously and sit and read as a diversion.
—Walker Percy | The Moviegoer (via astrangerhere)
How I’ve changed may not be apparent.
I limp. Read and write, make tea at the stove
as I practiced in rehab. Sometimes, like fire,
a task overwhelms me. I cry for days, shriek
when the phone rings. Like a page pulled from flame,
I’m singed but intact: I don’t burn down the house.
Later, cleared to drive, I did outpatient rehab. Others
lost legs or clutched withered minds in their hands.
A man who can’t speak recognized me
and held up his finger. I knew he meant
One year since your surgery. Sixteen since his.
Guadalupe wishes daily to be the one before. Nobody
is that. Sometimes, like love, the neurons just cross fire.
You don’t get everything back.
May I write words more naked than flesh,
stronger than bone, more resilient than
sinew, sensitive than nerve.
—Theresa Hak Kyung Cha via Sappho (via animus-inviolabilis)