Stay close…..



“Stay close to anything that makes you glad you are alive.”

~ Hafez

~ Image “Moonlight Rhapsody” by Tarrby
Text & image source: The Garden Of Pensiveness

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a crooked tree

Peedeel's Blog

Once upon a time there was a crooked tree and a straight tree. And they grew next to each other.

And every day the straight tree would look at the crooked tree and he would say, “You’re crooked. You’ve always been crooked and you’ll continue to be crooked. But look at me! Look at me!” said the straight tree. He said, “I’m tall and I’m straight.”

And then one day the lumberjacks came into the forest and looked around, and the manager in charge said, “Cut all the straight trees.” And that crooked tree is still there to this day, growing strong and growing strange.

Goran Dukić
Wristcutters: A Love Story

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And you blame your neighbour for being a stranger

Peedeel's Blog

And you blame your neighbour for being a stranger

Your Christ is Jewish
Your car is Japanese
Your couscous is Algerian
Your democracy is Greek
Your coffee is Brazilian
Your Chianti is Italian

And you blame your neighbour for being a stranger

Your watch is Swiss
Your shirt is Indian
Your radio is Korean
Your holidays are Tunisian
Your numbers are Arabic
Your writing is Latin

And you blame your neighbour for being a stranger

Your figs are Turkish
Your bananas come from Cameroon
Your salmon comes from Norway
Your lemons come from Morocco
Your lychees from Madagascar
Your peppers from Senegal

And you blame your neighbour for being a stranger

Your mangoes come from Bangui
Your coconuts from Ivory Coast
Your pineapple comes from California
Your vodka comes from Russia
Your beer from Rhineland
Your oranges from Australia

And you blame your neighbour for being a stranger

Julos Beaucarne

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If books disappear

Peedeel's Blog

You said that we owe literature almost everything we are and what we have been. If books disappear, history will disappear, and human beings will also disappear. I am sure you are right. Books are not only the arbitrary sum of our dreams, and our memory. They also give us the model of self-transcendence. Some people think of reading only as a kind of escape: an escape from the “real” everyday world to an imaginary world, the world of books. Books are much more. They are a way of being fully human.

Susan Sontag
Letter to Jorge Luis Borges dated June 13, 1996

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Petition in support of Meghan Murphy

Normally I would put it on Aunt Polly’s Rants but this will get more traffic here. Feminist blogs & gender-critical blogs are being removed not only from WordPress but from other writing platforms & now from Twitter & Facebook. This is a violation of our free speech & is CENSORSHIP. Shutting down debate does not stop the argument. WOMEN ARE NOT GOING TO STFU. Whether you believe that “transwomen are women” or not, non-platforming women because of they are saying is WRONG.

Purple Sage

Hello friends,

I’m just dropping in to say there’s a petition going around to support Meghan Murphy who was banned from Twitter. You can sign it here.

In a relatively short time, several gender critical feminist blogs were removed from WordPress and Meghan Murphy was banned from Twitter. We need to do what we can to support our sisters. Please sign and share!



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Longing is raw

Peedeel's Blog

Longing is not a mind game and that is why I’ve always trusted it. Longing is raw, longing is real; it makes one listen and be attentive to what’s inside. There is mad honesty in longing. So mad that it feels suitable. It is very suitable for me, I’m telling you – I don’t even want to write it or write about it, I want to be it.

Anne Sexton
A Self-Portrait In Letters

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What Use Is Knowing Anything If No One Is Around

I don’t know why … this is the most brilliant poem I’ve read in a long time

Peedeel's Blog

What use is knowing anything if no one is around
to watch you know it? Plants reinvent sugar daily
and hardly anyone applauds. Once as a boy I sat
in a corner covering my ears, singing Quranic verse

after Quranic verse. Each syllable was perfect, but only
the lonely rumble in my head gave praise. This is why
we put mirrors in birdcages, why we turn on lamps

to double our shadows. I love my body more
than other bodies. When I sleep next to a man, he becomes
an extension of my own brilliance. Or rather, he becomes
an echo of my own anticlimax. I was delivered

from dying like a gift card sent in lieu of a pound
of flesh. My escape was mundane, voidable. Now
I feed faith to faith, suffer human noise, complain
about this or that heartache. The spirit lives in between

the parts of…

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