nervously attempting

it is only because the world looks on his talent with such a frightening indifference that the artist is compelled to make his talent important - james baldwin ;

there is a sacredness in tears. they are not the markers of weakness but of power. they are messengers of overwhelming greif and unspeakable love - washington irving ;

write to save yourself and one day you will write because you have been saved - anne michaels;

the piece of henry david thoreau's soul that screamed at him until he moved into a log cabin in the wilderness so that he could do nothing but observe and write exists within me. all of the writing comes from this piece of soul, none from any entity within the mind.

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Text 26 Jan 68 notes futility

(n.) the exhausting understanding that you must work yourself bare for nearly nothing;

understanding is built like a palace from toothpicks, or cultivated the way you do a fragile garden survivable only in the tiniest possible combination of circumstances.

so as you explain and elaborate, persuade and articulate, and hope that you’re getting farther than those who came before you, the last ones who tried till they gave up, or tried till their end

and as you try to build understanding, catalyze change,

you push back the truth that lives inside you as much as it does outside of you

and paint the futility with rays of hope

because without optimism

we are all just waiting for our end

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