Avatar
Katrin
8eef5a3bf5e178356a0633b16f91c822f557c14d05a7adb21ca522f54dcc0136

šŸ’›šŸ–¤ #Pittsburgh August 2022

What was ā€œthe promptā€ that is in your design to reply to me?

ā€œEmancipation is a marker of progress for white Americans, not black ones. Trump, in planning to go to Tulsa for Juneteenth, was not trolling black people. He was trolling the United States Constitution.ā€ ~Jelani Cobb #Juneteenth Juneteenth and the Meaning of Freedom https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2020/06/29/juneteenth-and-the-meaning-of-freedom

Yes. Even the fox faced creature plays a part in the narrative.

My mom is going away to the beach next week & she asked me to look after it. I’ll take some pictures & share them here!

Morning #bookstr #rereading

ā€œWhen I was a little girl and would eat pumpkin seeds, my mother would say, ā€œAn orange tree is going to grow inside you.ā€ Or an apple tree. The idea thrilled me. Now it’s the canary that causes a tree to grow inside me. I echo. I’m made of wood. His singing has unleashed something. Mine is a sad house, stuck in time, a house full of monotonous rituals, tidy. It lets loose now. ā€œI’m alive,ā€ it says to me. ā€œLook at me, I’m alive.ā€ The canary’s singing causes a tiny ship to sail from my branches. The wind that drives it is pure energy. Time flows at last. I dive in. I make the bed, open my arms, kneel, tidy up, bend over, go, come. I can’t stop now.ā€ —from the short story ā€œCanariesā€ ~ ELENA PONIATOWSKA Translated by George Henson https://a.co/fQvMO3f

I remember when this video came out. Shakira shared videos of her dance rehearsals— šŸ”„šŸ’œ (love this for the music & dancing) GN https://youtu.be/XEvKn-QgAY0

Beautiful! I was at my parent’s house today & my mom recently started a mini greenhouse— growing some herbs & zucchini.

apogee ā¤ļøšŸ«‚

ā€œNothing is stable in the text. The voice of the narrator moves from the darkest wondering about existence and God to almost comic wandering around in his character; he is watching her, entering her mind, listening to her and then standing back. He is filled with pity and sympathy for her case – her poverty, her innocence, her body, how much she does not know and cannot imagine – but he is also alert to the writing of fiction itself as an activity which demands tricks that he, the poor narrator, simply does not possess, or does not find useful. At times, on the other hand, he is in possession of too many of them. It is hard to decide who to feel more sorry for, MacabĆ©a or the narrator, the innocent victim of life, or the highly self-conscious victim of his own failure. The one who knows too little, or the one who knows too much.ā€ https://www.theguardian.com/books/2014/jan/18/clarice-lispector-hour-of-the-star