black holes, rilke and parallel worlds

i talk about literature because it saved my life

the only thing i know to do well enough is to read. at least i hope so. i've been doing it for all my life. when i was seven my mother gifted me the little prince, the first book i ever read. a story i felt belonged only to me. the second one was a book  about greek mythology for kids. the one myth i remember the most is about the creation of the universe. maybe it was then that i would become hopelessly devoted to black holes.

even when i don't feel good enough to be an artist or a daughter, some days when even a pencil in my hand feels too heavy i think about the little prince, waiting for his 43th sunset. when i was a child i didn't fully understand how bewitching and terrible this was but the first time i read the brothers karamazov i suddenly felt myself come to the realisation.  

“i think i could stand anything, any suffering, only to be able to say and to repeat to myself every moment, ‘i exist.’ in thousands of agonies — i exist. i’m tormented on the rack — but i exist! though i sit alone in a pillar — i exist! i see the sun, and if i don’t see the sun, i know it’s there. and there’s a whole life in that, in knowing that the sun is there.”

naturally if you have nothing else to believe in you become a sun worshipper. i love these kinds of people.they make me believe that life is simple, you only need a searing, fading star 150 million kilometres away from the earth and some oxygen to accompany a little water for things to grow. of course there are rare creatures— black holes — that refuse this way of living. i'm not sun worshipper but i do appreciate how the light reflects on the sea — another black hole —.

a house i built wih legos from a star wars ship set

two years ago there was another discovery as necessary as the little prince or dostoyevsky in my life. a friend introduced me to rilke and the world began again. linda gregg knows this sentiment too well. 

perhaps poetry replaces something

in me that others receive more naturally

see i never really thought about language that much because saussure said this world — this black hole — was made of arbitrary words and there was no meaning beyond it and žižek said reality came to an end where words could no longer go. and i felt a malicious comfort because there was no despair left other than the one we already knew. this pandora box of ours.  but gregg was right because after rilke i felt like a child again, full of life and full of love. after poetry, there is only hope. painfully bright hope. 

i'm still fascinated by black holes, how could i not when i love them so? but little by little with every word breaking and creating another reality i realise i have so many people to thank for the bits and pieces my heart is composed of. i'm still waiting for some black holes to spew some stars here and there.

WEEKLY DIGEST 🏡

• yellow light by of monsters and men is how i believe the end of the world should sound like

• those james webb space telescope photographs. you know the ones.

• i read comet in moominland and it was ominous and fun and ultimately very sweet. i want every illustration printed on my eyelids.

• the soaring dust of the mortal realm by FEI MING 废名

i hope you find a comforting or beautiful book one of these days. thank you for reading.