"Someone spoke to me last night,
told me the truth. Just a few words,
but I recognized it.
I knew I should make myself get up,
write it down, but it was late,
and I was exhausted from working
all day in the garden, moving rocks."
"There it goes again. That heavy feeling in your chest when you don’t feel any desire to speak or move. All you want to do is close your eyes and sleep, because the process of being broken is incredibly exhausting. You attempt your best to make your days fulfilling, but no matter how hard you try you can’t seem to connect to anyone or anything."
"You lose yourself trying to hold on to someone who doesn’t care about losing you."
"A house full of scraps of poems, unused ideas. A nest of thoughts, the wood chips from an industrious carpenter of the word. Their abundance, like froth, around my existence, excess, boiling over. I don’t know why I sentenced this or that poem to non-being, to silence; why I wrote down this, but not that thought. All froth."
"I, too, remember that feeling. You are caught between all that was and all that must be. You feel lost."
Terrifying fact of the day
In late 1985, Lebanese militants kidnapped four Soviet diplomats, killing one of them. The Soviets replied by sending their elite “Alfa” Spetsnaz special forces group to Beirut; the troopers kidnapped the relatives of those involved in the kidnapping, dismembered them, and mailed the kidnappers the body parts with the message “more will follow”. The hostages were subsequently released.
The Russians play dirty, but you can’t deny they get results.