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EXACT

Why would you do that to me? I keep trying to locate the moment everything broke. Like it’s a pin on a map I can circle in red. But there is no clear shatterpoint—no clean fracture, no dramatic climax. Just pressure. Gradual. Relentless. Until one day, I couldn’t carry it anymore and I don’t even remember deciding to drop it. Maybe the line was never drawn. Maybe I was never taught I could draw one. Is that my fault? His? Does fault even matter? Was it an accident? Was it cruelty? Was it just the consequence of being small in a world that teaches people to take what they want? I don’t know. And I’m learning to live with not knowing. But lately—strangely—I think I’m healing. Not all at once. Not dramatically. But quietly, like the way snow melts: slow and almost imperceptible, until suddenly there’s grass again. I’m letting go of the obsessions that gnawed at me. I have energy again, like I finally remembered how to move. I’m picking up pieces of old joy, half-buried but still intact. I’m remembering the things I loved. The things that loved me back. And maybe, most importantly, I’m forgetting the things that never really mattered at all.

@baixwar

Jun 9, 2025

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Bambi, a life in the woods — felix salten

I read it in first grade and it accelerated the development of a profound sense of consciousness and independent thinking and fortified my existing love for animals/nature/the environment. I was already an overly existential child and it helped me learn to focus on beauty and joy in the face of death and suffering! — The leaves were falling from the great oak at the meadow's edge. They were falling from all the trees. One branch of the oak reached high above the others and stretched far out over the meadow. Two leaves clung to its very tip. "It isn't the way it used to be," said one leaf to the other. "No," the other leaf answered. "So many of us have fallen off tonight we're almost the only ones left on our branch." "You never know who's going to go next," said the first leaf. "Even when it was warm and the sun shone, a storm or a cloudburst would come sometimes, and many leaves were torn off, though they were still young. You never know who's going to go next." "The sun seldom shines now," sighed the second leaf, "and when it does it gives no warmth. We must have warmth again." "Can it be true," said the first leaf, "can it really be true, that others come to take our places when we're gone and after them still others, and more and more?" "It is really true," whispered the second leaf. "We can't even begin to imagine it, it's beyond our powers." "It makes me very sad," added the first leaf. They were silent a while. Then the first leaf said quietly to herself, "Why must we fall? ..." The second leaf asked, "What happens to us when we have fallen?" "We sink down. ..." "What is under us?" The first leaf answered, "I don't know, some say one thing, some another, but nobody knows." The second leaf asked, "Do we feel anything, do we know anything about ourselves when we're down there?" The first leaf answered, "Who knows? Not one of all those down there has ever come back to tell us about it." They were silent again. Then the first leaf said tenderly to the other, "Don't worry so much about it, you're trembling." "That's nothing," the second leaf answered, "I tremble at the least thing now. I don't feel so sure of my hold as I used to." "Let's not talk any more about such things," said the first leaf. The other replied, "No, we'll let be. But—what else shall we talk about?" She was silent, but went on after a little while. "Which of us will go first?" "There's still plenty of time to worry about that," the other leaf assured her. "Let's remember how beautiful it was, how wonderful, when the sun came out and shone so warmly that we thought we'd burst with life. Do you remember? And the morning dew, and the mild and splendid things..." "Now the nights are dreadful," the second leaf complained, "and there is no end to them." "We shouldn't complain," said the first leaf gently. "We've outlived many, many others." "Have I changed much?" asked the second leaf shyly but determinedly. "Not in the least," the first leaf assured her. "You only think so because I've got to be so yellow and ugly. But it's different in your case." "You're fooling me," the second leaf said. "No, really," the first leaf exclaimed eagerly, "believe me, you're as lovely as the day you were born. Here and there may be a little yellow spot but it's hardly noticeable and only makes you handsomer, believe me." "Thanks," whispered the second leaf, quite touched. "I don't believe you, not altogether, but I thank you because you're so kind, you've always been so kind to me. I'm just beginning to understand how kind you are." "Hush," said the other leaf, and kept silent herself for she was too troubled to talk any more. Then they were both silent. Hours passed. A moist wind blew, cold and hostile, through the treetops. "Ah, now," said the second leaf, "I..." Then her voice broke off. She was torn from her place and spun down.  Winter had come.

@taterhole

Sep 8, 2024

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on reading the news in your 20s

i remember wondering what they must have been thinking. while the bombs were being dropped, while their high school crush was sent to fight a war he didn't want. i wondered what they spent their days doing. what their older coworkers were whispering about in break rooms. what the best cook in their friend group was thinking as they fed dinner parties with ritz pies and canned vegetable casseroles. i wondered how it felt to keep spinning when the world was falling apart, surely the citizens knew better, surely they spoke up, surely their bones were alight with rage and confidence and desperation! surely it felt cataclyismic. that's how it's always been taught. looking back, we see the patterns. looking forward, we just see another day. these days, as my rights are being taken from me every morning, as the farmers are scared to farm and the reporters cannot report and the people are stirring unsteadily- these days i know all too well. i cut my strawberries in fours wondering if next week there will be any left. i listen to conversations in break rooms and elevators, making a tally of who's husband has a red hat and who talks about lowering taxes and whos eyes shift to the floor whenever someone says the word immigrant. i savor, save, and wonder. i worry, don't we all worry? i hold my lover tight and blanket us in gratitude, praying it is enough that we never discover how lucky and rare this moment is. when i was young i signed myself up for the revolution because it was exciting. then because it was necessary, and now because it is all there is. we expected songbirds and battle cries and passion, instead we carry casual, mundane grief. maybe there is no better future. maybe all there is is the hope of one. so i no longer wonder. i know what it is to be one of the unlucky ones. i know the lack of glory in living through the next generations 'never again'. we are not revolutionaries. we are not martyrs. we are people just getting through the day. no one will write me a biography when i am gone, my diary will not be published. but my hands will be dirty and my soul will be light when they accuse me of the crime of being human. i lived, despite it all, during it all. isn't that what it's all about?

@kiwibird4

Jan 28, 2025

Top Recs from @idkman

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art house/ avant-garde films

does anyone know where i can find art house/avant-garde films that have good production design or like set dressing, kinda like David lynch

@idkman

May 28, 2025