I will bloom where I am planted when I am buried among pineapples, where the miasmic heat of the tropics meets the mountain meadows, and the pineapple stems blend in with the pinecones, carpeting the forest floor. There - I will birth a blossom so brilliant people will travel from miles around to see the unbelievable flower, standing tall and proud reaching, towards the sun. The pineapples have been planted. the mountains sit, silent, patiently waiting. And I? I begin to hum a deep resonant melody beneath the sun-warmed damp soil and move towards the light.
good things on the internet
Daniel Radcliffe performing his showstopper from Merrily We Roll Along (seeing this live was a peak experience) 🎶
currently reading
This Time Tomorrow by Emma Straub: “Happy endings were too much for some people, false and cheap, but hope - hope was honest. Hope was good.”
Dark Matter by Meg Bernhard: A long-form history of Post Secret & it’s creator Frank Warren
The Responsibility of Witnesses to Genocide by Jennifer Lynn Kelly: “But then I remember the work of the witness, and the work of solidarity, and how such work requires nourishment. It requires us to allow ourselves to feel helpless until we renew our resolve, until we recommit, over and over again, to reading, enumerating, acting.”
The Museum Was Built So No One Would Forget . . .by William Albert Pagdatoon: “us, pottery fragments once // dusted in warm sand—jagged, // mismatched—today, preserved // in glass.
this week’s jam
I’m a sucker for a club whistle.
Mmm beautiful. I hear this in my head at the end…✨ https://open.spotify.com/track/1Z1WThg1pTw7zm3Ulm5PHJ?si=OrCFMhSgQxCugGG_4hKipw