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Nicolette ♡
https://www.goodreads.com/nicolettereadsbooks
“You don't understand music: you hear it. So hear me with your whole body.”
― The Stream of Life
― The Stream of Life
“Individual happiness seems hollow unless all human beings are free of oppression, poverty, and violence — as well as free to speak and act in the public sphere. This doesn’t mean we have to be miserable in the meantime. We can’t help each other if we don’t help ourselves. But we have to go further than the smiley face rhetoric of commoditized mindfulness. Dissatisfaction and unhappiness are not impediments to revolution; they are its fuel.”
― McMindfulness: How Mindfulness Became the New Capitalist Spirituality
― McMindfulness: How Mindfulness Became the New Capitalist Spirituality
“Mostly I have felt myself becoming a servant of sadness. I am still looking for the beauty in that.”
― Bluets
― Bluets
“At the height of happiness, I have spoken of a music never heard before. So what? If only I could in a continual state of ecstasy, shaping the body of the pome with my own, rescuing every phrase with my days and weeks, imbuing the poem with my breath while feeding letters of its every word into the offering in this ceremony of living.”
― El infierno musical
― El infierno musical
“Fragments for Subduing the Silence”
I.
The powers of language are the solitary ladies who sing, desolate, with this voice of mine that I hear from a distance. And far away, in the black sand, lies a girl heavy with ancestral music. Where is death itself? I have wanted clarity in light of my lack of light. Branches die in the memory. The girl lying in the sand nestles into me with her wolf mask. The one she couldn’t stand anymore and that begged for flames and that we set on fire.
II.
When the roof tiles blow away from the house of language, and words no longer keep—that is when I speak.
The ladies in red have lost themselves in their masks. Though they will return to sob among the flowers.
Death is no mute. I hear the song of the mourners sealing the clefts of silence. I listen and the sweetness of your crying brings life to my grey silence.
III.
Death has restored to silence its own bewitching charm. And I will not say my poem and I will say it. Even if (here, now) the poem has no feeling, no future.
Boston Review: Three Poems April 15, 2015”
―
I.
The powers of language are the solitary ladies who sing, desolate, with this voice of mine that I hear from a distance. And far away, in the black sand, lies a girl heavy with ancestral music. Where is death itself? I have wanted clarity in light of my lack of light. Branches die in the memory. The girl lying in the sand nestles into me with her wolf mask. The one she couldn’t stand anymore and that begged for flames and that we set on fire.
II.
When the roof tiles blow away from the house of language, and words no longer keep—that is when I speak.
The ladies in red have lost themselves in their masks. Though they will return to sob among the flowers.
Death is no mute. I hear the song of the mourners sealing the clefts of silence. I listen and the sweetness of your crying brings life to my grey silence.
III.
Death has restored to silence its own bewitching charm. And I will not say my poem and I will say it. Even if (here, now) the poem has no feeling, no future.
Boston Review: Three Poems April 15, 2015”
―
Nicolette ♡ ’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Nicolette ♡ ’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
4,422 books
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17 friends
1,956 books
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125 friends
431 books
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40 friends
1,587 books
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42 friends
3,513 books
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157 friends
2,120 books
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91 friends
452 books
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2,175 friends
897 books
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34 friends
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