Guattari’s Idea Is Both Refreshing And Profound. He Suggests That When A Person Experiences Psychosis,

If they miss you, they’ll call. If they want you, they’ll say it. If they care, they’ll show it. And if not, they aren’t worth your time.

Lessons Learned in Life (via thoughtkick)

Let me find out what the star burst is made of;

what sings shadows in the shade, love,

let me find out what color love is, dove.

Find the shape of god in your silhouette;

let me tender the torment of threat,

strangle sleep supine a striking sunset.

Let me hold my hunger for your halo;

grace my grave and gentle my glow,

let me bridge my bliss and bellow it below.

Ache in me my ashes asleep at the altar;

let me honor haste and humor holy halter,

frozen fallout to let the faith falter.

Erika L. Sánchez, from Lessons on Expulsion: Poems; “Amá”

[Text ID: “In One Hundred Years of Solitude, / Márquez wrote that we are birthed / by our mothers only once, but life obligates / us to give birth / to ourselves over and over.”]

i have been meaning to reach out to you but the window was open and everything seemed so lovely outside so i forgot.. but i still love you give me just a minute

Maya C. Popa, from “Dear Life”, Wound Is the Origin of Wonder

What if we learned about nature in relation to our body instead of as something that is subject to us, that surrounds us? I repotted an anthurium today and its roots were all bunched up together because it was originally in a too small pot. I decided to loosen the roots so they could take up more space in the dirt and I was reminded of how roots are essentially veins/veins are roots! Carrying life-giving nutrients and just their shape! And how the branches of a tree are fractals, like the pathways in our brains, like lightning in the sky! Point is, we would probably feel more connected and invested in the natural world if we learned about it as similar to ourselves, as ourselves being a part of it down to the design elements being similar.

Do Angels Exist? A Google Search a Week off Antipsychotics, Dante Émile

Her fluttered spirit, delicate and soft, bumping against the lamp of life, too hard, too glassy,

Vita Sackville-West, from her poem "In Memoriam: Virginia Woolf" published in The Observer on 6 April 1941