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Always falling into a hole, then saying “ok, this is not your grave, get out of this hole,” getting out of the hole which is not the grave, falling into a hole again, saying “ok, this is also not your grave, get out of this hole,” getting out of that hole, falling into another one; sometimes falling into a hole within a hole, or many holes within holes, getting out of them one after the other, then falling again, saying “this is not your grave, get out of the hole”; sometimes being pushed, saying “you can not push me into this hole, it is not my grave,” and getting out defiantly, then falling into a hole again without any pushing; sometimes falling into a set of holes whose structures are predictable, ideological, and long dug, often falling into this set of structural and impersonal holes; sometimes falling into holes with other people, with other people, saying “this is not our mass grave, get out of this hole,” all together getting out of the hole together, hands and legs and arms and human ladders of each other to get out of the hole that is not the mass grave but that will only be gotten out of together; sometimes the willful-falling into a hole which is not the grave because it is easier than not falling into a hole really, but then once in it, realizing it is not the grave, getting out of the hole eventually; sometimes falling into a hole and languishing there for days, weeks, months, years, because while not the grave very difficult, still, to climb out of and you know after this hole there’s just another and another; sometimes surveying the landscape of holes and wishing for a high quality final hole; sometimes thinking of who has fallen into holes which are not graves but might be better if they were; sometimes too ardently contemplating the final hole while trying to avoid the provisional ones; sometimes dutifully falling and getting out, with perfect fortitude, saying “look at the skill and spirit with which I rise from that which resembles the grave but isn’t!”
~ Anne Boyer
Aug 16, 2024
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Falling into a hole, again and again, each time saying, “This is not my grave. Get out of this hole.” Climbing out, only to stumble into another, muttering, “This too is not my grave. Get out.” Another hole, and then another, holes within holes—cascading, endless. Falling, rising, falling again. Each time insisting, “This is not my grave. Get out of the hole.”
Sometimes you’re pushed into the hole, defiant as you climb out, shouting, “You cannot push me into this. It is not my grave.” Other times, you fall unprovoked, tumbling into spaces already carved—rigid, ideological, impersonal voids. Holes whose walls were long dug by others. And sometimes, you fall into holes with others. Together, hands and arms forming ladders, you rise, proclaiming, “This is not our mass grave. Get out.”
There are times you willingly fall, choosing the hole because it seems easier than resisting. Only once inside, you realize—this isn’t the grave either. So, you climb, slow and deliberate, discovering that even after this hole, there’s yet another. And another.
Some holes linger, holding you captive for days, weeks, years. They may not be graves, but escaping them feels insurmountable. Still, you claw your way out, knowing the horizon holds an endless field of holes. Occasionally, you stop to survey them, yearning for a final, dignified place to rest—a hole of purpose, of completion. Yet even then, you wonder about others who have fallen, who never climbed out. Sometimes, you think, perhaps they found peace in staying.
You move forward, torn between avoiding the holes and contemplating their inevitability. Sometimes, you fall with resignation; other times, with a stubborn resolve. But each time, you rise, saying, “Look at the strength, the spirit, with which I rise from what resembles the grave but isn’t.”
Feb 24, 2025
I buried- in silence -in the back yard -a thing in the night -deer trodding behind the tree line airplane light rolling down the cheek of the dome- it had to be done alone no matter how many times you asked what was growing here I couldn’t speak its name- and you couldn’t hold the reigns of a certainty that is not yours to keep -here is my mind, the living, the executor, the backdoor frightened child staring off wandering for the holder -here is the order of the sphinx, the cataloged diagnosis of the ordinary wheel -here is the lackadaisical assistances that you ordered: “bury the hatchet that dug the hole. take the sword of your desires and throw it at the heap. there is a lump forming that must be seared. the stitches to be unraveled are trying to leach into the skin from which they are formed. you must open the earth or be dissolved yourself”
Feb 25, 2025
In threefold lives and twofold tears I hold my breath but I can’t pretend it’s not happening anymore. I keep finding myself saying “we’re graduating” again and again with no intonation because I truly don’t know what to feel. Maybe it’s a manifestation or maybe it’s just a recognition of the eventual, the eventuality of the end of the various hues I’ve been painted with at scad. In my minds eye lives a collage of all of the people whom I’ve cherished for four, (or five years if you count dual enrollment), to say I love them is an egregious understatement. To say I will miss them is simply diminishing an actuality. With me I carry this collage of love it keeps me warm when I am cold, and tender when I am stone. I helped me grow into my bones. Seen me and shone, people I’ve adored. I leave this place adorn with knowledge and love and a want for more. Chest heave practical in armor, holding onto the alternate dream of me, hoping, hoping for an offer, offering a life I am to live, if I just turn and run, if I just turn and run this time, lime green coconut leaves, spotted bedroom sheets, but the change is making me feel like i’ve already tried to hold myself a million little times, I try again, felicity in the way I falter, tell you endlessly, screaming colors of the ocean, push me in I adore it, let me live, I pour it out, strangers color me in the night, pieces of each of our mind, in a way we see each other demise each time, turn in, torn into sequins, sequential nightmares, its going to just end, in a way that I sink through the sun, into I construe again, I was just eighteen when I started this, made some friends I cherish, even, even if I lose them, I’ll still have a memory, of my beloveds smiling back at me, seen me grow, seen me weak, bleeding in through my knees, crying on their shoulders, painful hollow little laughter, walking through a tunnel, holding onto each other, I’ll love them like no other like a dream, no other could it be, in my perfect dream, many lifetimes lived with thee.
10h ago
Top Recs from @erikrikrika
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for some reason I have gone most of my life acting like I’m the only person on earth who’s not allowed to ask for help… and also feeling evil whenever I ask someone to do/not do something…. and lately I’m realizing that actually it’s okay if I ask. Most people are cool and will say “yes no problem”
Mar 24, 2025
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I encourage you to rip into me if you disagree because shying away from disagreement is what??👂 OUT!
IN
• Reading books
• Folk-rock and folk-country
• Doing stuff on the computer and not your phone like god intended (social media, online shopping, etc.)
• Clothes-wise: colored tights, mini skirts, scarves
• Being late to work
• Talking to strangers, in the same vein: making new friends
• Writing
• Taking the bus and the train
• Saying what you need to say and doing so succinctly
• Unionizing your workplace
OUT
• Boring convos with coworkers
• Wearing clothes you don’t really like
• Minnesota nice (see also: being nice is not always the same as being kind)
• VAPING OHHH MY GOD. WRAP IT UP!!!
• Caring about makeup, unless you’re a drag queen or a goth. Like you get 15 minutes max
• Shying away from disagreement
• Fast casual chain restaurants - go eat local and sit down for a while
• Paw Patrol (copaganda)
• Ass kissing
• Being under 25
Dec 23, 2024
I mean. Wow. I wish I could formulate coherent literary analysis but I think I just need to sit with this for a month. Humanity, gender, politics, fear, love. The heart of culturally long-lasting, impactful sci fi is when the sci is merely a background to the fi, ya know?
Tried to pick a quote but can’t right now. If you hear shrill screaming in the distance just know it’s me wailing over this book
Illustration by David Lupton
Jan 30, 2025