Jaden Ellison > Recent Status Updates

i would like to be Henry Miller and Anaïs Nin’s third is that still possible lmk

on real note i’m sry but this is genuinely changing my life like i can’t… nin might be a genius and ive never been so entirely enamored by someone’s thinking, she speaks to me so searingly… so many of my sensibilities she’s assessing it’s like… wow… i wanna be her so, so badly. ohhhh my god. hallowed be thy name.

reading this book let me tell uuuuu i’ve got my window open to a Sweet Breeze i’m playing Sarah Vaughan’s “Star Eyes” album on my HomePod (chicest it can get without vinyl) i have S2 of “The Gilded Age” playing on my TV completely muted so it’s essentially just a montage of Gowns and Mansions… heaven is accessible u just have to be Brave enough to curate it. cheers to Jane Austen.

suddenly it got gay #pride and i need to read T.H. White’s dream-journal

woke up with a nosebleed at 6 AM couldn’t go to sleep started reading this for some reason got no fucking clue what’s going on don’t know what this man is saying it did put me back to sleep though #Milton

reading this on the plane rn… this girl’s kind of the Muthr Of Line-Breaks…

“Weighing the bodies before and after / to catch the weight of the soul, / wanting to prove the invisible / real as a bagful of nails. A girl”

“He sleeps on his face. His snout / flaps against the sand when he snores, / shapeless neck wearing / the crust garland of blood.”

“Away, I asked you finally to taste my smile / (if it was not delectable), / in its irresistible approach behind the stars in the East / the angel waits that I make myself limpid. / / That no look, no trace of yours limits him, / when he steps into the clearing; / let him be the suffering that afflicted me, wild nature…”

so rilke u r my Husband and we live in Prague. hello my husband Rilke.

just learned she got her MFA from Warren Wilson and it’s all making sense, now… six poems abt water in a row, how luvly…

“After Hearing Of His Passing / i kept sliding lemon under the skin / and herbs into the openings / of a chicken, its cold countering / / the recalled warmth of eggs / in the time when we / collected them fresh / / from beneath hens. Our hands, feather-brushed, found ways / to come near one another.”

insights r ooooh mmmm and the writing is … so frequently swell

“I said ‘black tree’ when I meant ‘night.’ I said ‘The branches blow and we sleep in dirt.’ I said ‘Telephone, Safe harbor. Perhaps you are. perhaps you are diamonds.’”

what if i cried a bunch and lost my mind omfg ughhhh just brilliant and tragic and oooooh i feel it…

“Looking for goshawks is like looking for grace: it comes, but not often, and you don’t get to say when or how. But you have a slightly better chance on still, clear mornings in early spring, because that’s when goshawks eschew their world under the trees to court each other in the open sky. That was what I was hoping to see.”

just soooo stunningggg… all of this…

“THERE WAS NO MEDICINE only me…”

“Rog it hasn’t stopped at all at you okay / does it hurt what can I do still still I / think if I worry enough I’ll keep you near / the night before Thanksgiving I had this / panic to buy the plot on either side of us / so we won’t be cramped that yard of extra grass / would let us breathe”

sobbing in the library rn. i have never been so struck like this. ohh my god.

“We’d been together for 10 years, and life was very sweet. On the bluff of ancient Thera, looking out across the southern Aegean toward Africa, my hand grazed a white marble block covered edge-to-edge with Greek characters. The marble was tilted, its message slowly eroding in the rain. “I hope somebody’s recorded all this,” I said, realizing with a dull thrill of helplessness that this was the record.”

“Look there is a desert where there was grassland / there is sun-inundation like a / scrupulous meditation no message just mutter / of immensity where it leaks into / / partiality. Into you/me. Our boundaries now / in the epic see-through, how they elude / wholeness…”

sry i’m like live-tweeting but there’s not a poem where i’m not squirtingggg likeee it’s the best book there is or waz. so genius…

“One day there is no day because there is no day before, no yesterday, then a now, & [time], & a cell divides and you, you are in time, time is in you, as multiplying now u slip into our stream, or is it u grow a piece of stream in us, is it flesh or time you grow, how, is it an American you grow…”

jorie graham u r the daughter of the gertrude steins they could not burn. ILYYY. whole book making me mmmmmmm.

“I admire what I own, what I am, and I think the night is nothing, the stars click their ascent, & I feel it rise in me, the word, I feel the skull beneath this skin, I feel the skin slick and shine and hide the skull, and it is from there that it rises now, I taste it before I say it, the song.”

JORIEEEEEE u own myfuckinglife

holy shit….. remarkableeee…

“with eyes which are really petals and see / nothing with the face of a poet really which / is a flower and not a face with / hands / which whisper / This is my beloved my / (suddenly in sunlight / he will bow, / & the whole garden will bow)”

e.e. too good… losing my mindddd at this man… he is going to Effect Me… idgaffff… E.E…

most miserable book idk mc is yapping that trap and im about to order wendy’s and snooze i cant take it anymore

“What the hell, right? What the fuckity fuck?” have u guys ever heard of a book being good and not ridiculous…

re-reading: forgot about how much work is done in the first half of the book to make the one paragraph describing a photograph taken of Harrison and her mother by Harrison’s estranged father one of the most searing and impactful passages i’ve ever read. remarkableeeee. had to pause and write about it cuz it was so well-done.

nothing is happening but the language is sublimeeee the drifting is sublimeeee the psych things happening are sublimeeee. this man is horrible, though. and has like… experienced nothing ever?

reading for grad school rn in a crazy way