“The snake enters your dreams through paintings:
this one, of a formal garden
in which there are always three: the thin man with the green-white skin
that marks him vegetarian
and the woman with a swayback and hard breasts
that look stuck on and the snake, vertical and with a head that’s face-coloured and haired like a woman’s. Everyone looks unhappy,
even the few zoo animals, stippled with sun,
even the angel who’s like a slab
of flaming laundry, hovering
up there with his sword of fire,
unable as yet to strike. There’s no love here.
Maybe it’s the boredom. And that’s no apple but a heart
torn out of someone
in this myth gone suddenly Aztec. This is the possibility of death
the snake is offering:
death upon death squeezed together,
a blood snowball. To devour it is to fall out
of the still unending noon
to a hard ground with a straight horizon and you are no longer the
idea of a body but a body,
you slide down into your body as into hot mud. You feel the membranes of disease
close over your head, and history
occurs to you and space enfolds
you in its armies, in its nights, and you
must learn to see in darkness. Here you can praise the light,
having so little of it: it’s the death you carry in you
red and captured, that makes the world
shine for you
as it never did before. This is how you learn prayer. Love is choosing, the snake said.
The kingdom of god is within you
because you ate it.”
— Margaret Atwood, Quattrocento (via ilvalentinos)
i havent seen some of these in any of the vine compilations ive watched so uhhh. here’s my own.
reblogging again because when the girl called the front desk to ask for a wake up call and the hotel lady was like “yes, ma’am… bush did 9/11” i passed out
give yourself over to the wolf. let it eat the parts of you that are sick, that are damaged beyond salvage. let the wolf in and let it clean house, and let it leave again. the wolf knows which parts must be swallowed. you do not need what it takes, and where it bites you the wounds will heal. let the wolf in and let it eat you, and let it leave again.
i will wade out till my thighs are steeped in burning flowers I will take the sun in my mouth and leap into the ripe air Alive with closed eyes to dash against darkness in the sleeping curves of my body Shall enter fingers of smooth mastery with chasteness of sea-girls Will i complete the mystery of my flesh I will rise After a thousand years lipping flowers And set my teeth in the silver of the moon
