MIND: Eloquence

Every day we slaughter our finest impulses. That is why we get a heartache when we read those lines written by the hand of a master and recognize them as our own, as the tender shoots which we stifled because we lacked the faith to believe in our own powers, our own criterion of truth and beauty.

Every man, when he gets quiet, when he becomes desperately honest with himself, is capable of uttering profound truths. We all derive from the same source. there is no mystery about the origin of things.

We are all part of creation, all kings, all poets, all musicians; we have only to open up, only to discover what is already there.

// Henry Miller

MIND: Linguistics

You drink a language, you speak a language, and one day it owns you; and from then on, it falls into the habit of grasping things in your place, it takes over your mouth like a lover’s voracious kiss.

The Meursault Investigation // Kamel Daoud

MIND: Barbaric

in my barbaric tongue
flowers are called flowers
and about air I say air
and stepping on the pavement bricks
with my heels I tap in
brick brick brick
and I say stone so softly
as if stone were velvet
and I bury my face in your neck
as if a cat’s warm fur grew there
and I love
my barbaric tongue
and say: I love

In My Barbaric Tongue // Halina Poswiatowska

SOL: Sanctimonious

I slept with him and stole
His photos – he saw them reproduced and
Blamed me for
Appropriating his intellect, claimed
I had stolen his essence; scorned me for being
Devoid of ethics.
I sent him a reply months later by post
Asking him why he abhorred my actions of
Deceit when he had so adored the
Same insidiousness between sheets.

3AM Thoughts // AKA “The Hypocrisy of Men.”