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And these tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them,
And such as it is to be of these more or less I am.
And of these one and all I weave the song of myself.

when and why and how did all these people step off the train of time?

Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with linguists and contenders,
I have no mocking or arguments. I witness and wait.

“In health meaning has encroached upon sound. Our intelligence domineers over our senses. But in illness, with the police off duty, we creep beneath some obscure poem by Mallarmé or Donne, some phrase in Latin or Greek, and the words give out their scent and distil their flavour, and then, if at last we grasp the meaning, it is all the richer..”

What a unique experience.. it puts one in a trance.

My person is wounded
My first-person singular

why is henry so fucking lame

“What do I want with seasons when I have come to a halt in a warm and golden eternity? A gentle repetition. What more can one ask for?”

Girl get to the point

I am at last bereft.

“I never stay too long because if I do, I can tell that my language is not the only thing that is growing. A monster is also growing. It is not something I write about in my seasons book. That I am devouring my world. That I have to move on, to avoid eating up my world. That I am a monster on the move, a winter monster.”

There’s an almost frantic obsession with night and silence in her poetry. Something about death, the night, and silence is always present.

This book is undoing what I thought was irreparable psychical damage that I’ve accumulated over the years since 2021.

Cornerstone and Primitive Eyes are such perfect standouts. Gorgeous. Ethereal. Surreal. Relatable.

For some strange reason this book does not strike me as repetitive at all despite the recursions.

This is very meditative. It’s like breathwork. Interesting. I’m intrigued.

I speak of the irreparable. I want nothing less than the irreparable. The unbound body.

Reading this book is so painfully exhausting because it feels like I’m wasting my time. I’m grateful it introduced me to Alejandra Pizarnik, but goddammit is it insufferable.