the valley below

the daddys issue

Fri, 08 May 2026 17:11:28 +0800

some days like i become your magazine
some days like i become your loaded gun
these days it makes no difference which

yes i read your letter yesterday and all
the days before, your hollow men, your dump
truck spat into my bed, and im not sure

it got there but i wrote you on the third
to say, how dare you write me when you never
learn to read a single fucking word

//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

whether id recommend (para-aineein
for you
to gratify
all
the not-loving (ones) (me erosi)

// 234β

εἰ ἅπασίν σοι παραινῶ τοῖς μὴ ἐρῶσι χαρίζεσθαι

oil spill

on genealogy

Thu, 07 May 2026 17:46:10 +0800

for when you’re here, have this of me. as time
lets go of us, a song escapes the circlet in
a stranger coming home; eventuality.

under covers of moonlight, the folding pages
yellowed in memory, a gnawing book-
worm spins the orphanage; mulberry leaves.

some shadows at a funeral see less,
and lesson me, nightmare and burnt-off limb.
to hold a hand in grace; fatherlessness.

//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

equally (isos)

if you would really ask (eroio)
me

// 234β

ἴσως

ἂν οὖν ἔροιό με

the self-guarding deliberation of one who wouldn't love

Wed, 06 May 2026 17:31:16 +0800

so, paedophilia is in the news again. or
ephebophilia, as the clarifiers say, making clear
nothing. and every soul in Athens seems
a perpetrator and a victim of the crime; i
have come to understand it as a spectrum.

the young, the young, we must protect the young;
who does and doesn’t say it is a creep. so where
might i protect them from the citizen? and where
might i protect them from the serpent of my tongue? if
here, rare and slithering and beautiful, it would insert itself

into your ear. into any nubile mind, and call it
education. once upon a time, a little fiction built
the beating heart of my self-government. all fallen
on the shell-shocked ears of popular abuse. all fallen
across the scattered pages of history.

//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

you
really
remember (memneso)
the things having been spoken (eremenon)

and (put) it into the heart (en-thumou)

that (on the one hand)
beloveds (hoi philoi)
warn (nouthetousin) (or put-in-mind)
lovers (erontas)

of the practice (epi-tedeumatos)
being (ontos)
bad (kakou)

and (on the other hand)
no one ever yet in the household (ton oikeion)
accused (emempsato)
the not-loving (me erosin)

of
through this
badly deliberating (bouleuein)
about themselves (peri eauton)

// 234β

σὺ οὖν τῶν τε εἰρημένων μέμνησο

καὶ ἐκεῖνο ἐνθυμοῦ

ὅτι τοὺς μὲν ἐρῶντας οἱ φίλοι νουθετοῦσιν

ὡς ὄντος κακοῦ τοῦ ἐπιτηδεύματος

τοῖς δὲ μὴ ἐρῶσιν οὐδεὶς πώποτε τῶν οἰκείων ἐμέμψατο

ὡς διὰ τοῦτο κακῶς βουλευομένοις περὶ ἑαυτῶν

Wed, 06 May 2026 17:25:01 +0800

rose-colored filtration //

myth of sea urchins

Tue, 05 May 2026 17:35:35 +0800

oh protecting self of fire, oh siren song
of dragon scales; by glass, a flashing wheel,
honed steel, and feathers through the scapula;
so eager grows her guardian of tears.

so cells divide an urchin by its need
for spine, for swimmers heart, for art. cut us

in half, and each retains their whole of holes.
consistency is pluripotency in love.

so ocean breathes, with grave authority.
and armor makes, re-wakes itself; fossils
desire; marine in-vertebrates our queer
anthropocene; our deeper keys, in blastomere.

//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

and not those who
ceasing from desire (pauomenoi tes epi-thumias)
will seek a pretext (prophasin)
for hatred (echthra)

but those who
of ceased season (pausamenou tes horas)

will then display (epi-deiknumi)
excellence (arete)
of their own

// 234α

οὐδὲ οἵτινες παυόμενοι τῆς ἐπιθυμίας ἔχθρας πρόφασιν ζητήσουσιν

ἀλλ᾽ οἳ παυσαμένου τῆς ὥρας

τότε τὴν αὑτῶν ἀρετὴν ἐπιδείξονται

(plz dont miss
kate & tori references)

🌖

don’t drop by

Mon, 04 May 2026 17:15:26 +0800

tonight; to see you makes me dangerous.
an ember sleeps; you hide yourself.
every soldier in uniform is a suicide.

oh, my friend, don’t drop the grenade, don’t drop
the quiet words. wake me from clay at dawn.
your shoulder lights our temporary weight.

there’s revolution in the research of
a snail; your fingerprint upon my eyelid.
every little life sets wings to wildfire.

//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

and not (to gratify or make well)
those coming quickly (spoudazein)
for a brief time (oligon chronon)

but those
consistently (homoios)
throughout all of life (dia pantos tou biou)
will-being friends (philois esomenois)

// 234α

οὐδὲ τοῖς ὀλίγον χρόνον σπουδάζουσιν

ἀλλὰ τοῖς ὁμοίως διὰ παντὸς τοῦ βίου φίλοις ἐσομένοις

Rafflesia arnoldii

Sun, 03 May 2026 17:16:51 +0800

it smells like a rotting corpse
they say, of the reddish-brown giantess

whose speckled blossom murks the jungle cloud
in Kalimantan with her foul putrescence.

blowflies in frenzied ritual surround
her swollen beef-like lips, unfurling with

a steamy hiss.
you steal the kiss.

and wipe your conscience with
a bloody handkerchief.

//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

and not (to gratify or make well) those who
having done-it-through (dia-prassein)
will befriend honor (philo-timeomai)
toward others

but those who
(self-)uglying (aischunein)
will keep silence (simopaein)
toward the all

234α

οὐδὲ οἳ διαπραξάμενοι πρὸς τοὺς ἄλλους φιλοτιμήσονται

ἀλλ᾽ οἵτινες αἰσχυνόμενοι πρὸς ἅπαντας σιωπήσονται

previously

Sat, 02 May 2026 20:18:46 +0800

guardian (of tears) //

a visit with the donkey of Rabi'a al-'Adawiya

Sat, 02 May 2026 17:40:32 +0800

if the world would like to hear how Rabi’a
gained courage or her strange immunity
to fear, for friendship, i would explain. yet,
a friend is not a purveyor of shallots; nor

pinned apples, by the donkey’s tale. her debt
of tears she brought with her most carefully.
this baggage carries me, her dogged ass;
my nag for recollection married with

my nap of opportunity. fresh dates
don’t pluck a prophet from the fetching tree.
a footfelt softness is velvet delivery
under her bending limb, and broken news

is armor. what teeming droplets, but by winter?
what is the desert, if not her country of birth?
what is her coin, if not the cake she gives
right back, the moment she has tasted worth.

//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

and not as many as
will enjoy the gain (apo-lauein)
of your season (hora)

but those who will give after (meta-didonai)
of their own goods (ton spheteron agathon)
to one born older (presbuteroi genomenoi)

// 234α

οὐδὲ ὅσοι τῆς σῆς ὥρας ἀπολαύσονται

ἀλλ᾽ οἵτινες πρεσβυτέρῳ γενομένῳ τῶν σφετέρων ἀγαθῶν μεταδώσουσιν

in this, changed “dense” to “rich”.
have also reworked the (tricky)
first few lines of the Lysias speech.

storied desire

Fri, 01 May 2026 17:29:13 +0800

cries, the piercing prophecy, momentous
saturation; all breasts equally my mother

back then. the born believe a milky way
is worthy of the bowl-stretched-opening.

my fathered evolution, separation: it
plants pillars underneath indifference.

like siblings on the page, each owns its pain;
instruction speaks the crepitus of limbs.

left outlines carry the crunching of leaves;
a subtle switch, the circumstantial spring.

//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

and not only (to gratify or make well)
the begging

but those worthy (axios)
of the act (pragma)

233ε

οὐδὲ τοῖς προσαιτοῦσι μόνον

ἀλλὰ τοῖς τοῦ πράγματος ἀξίοις

previously

🌕

Happy Birthday to Her

Wed, 29 Apr 2026 17:14:26 +0800

(got resurrection
yet?)

last night, we had a birthday dinner for Blih’s fiancée.
having lived with him for years, we have a lumayan
understanding of his habits in relationship. and i hope
beyond hope that they can make it work. because i love
her, and already, i feel like she is my sister.

so we take them out, to the restaurant at the end of
the island. where, for one night, she and my brother
might dine, and be treated, like we, who bring foreign
money here. and i will tell you frankly, the dining scene
is fucked-up. where even to begin.

(someday maybe i’ll know how to share Mak Sun’s way
of making krawu. that day is not here.)

the maskmaker and i are semi-regulars at this restaurant,
a vegan place, where the staff know us well enough
by now, and treat my husband with dignity and respect.
nothing puts a damper on a lovey-dovey date quite like
everybody assuming he’s a delivery driver.

so we order a variety of delicious dishes, none local,
all absurd, decadent, and as fun as we can manage. well
it seems, in Bali, and from all sides, that foreign money
will buy you anything; will fix any problem; will satisfy any
want. and foreigners arrive so ravenous for grace.

(not to be confused with Grace, who is our bossiest hen.
we do not eat her for a reason.)

where was i? as fun as we can manage. but from the start,
i can tell, my brother and sister are exhausted. perhaps
from arguments. this is okay. we are family; we have
been stuck into each others tangled lives; we have seen
the messy, the tearful, the claws; the krawu.

my sister explains the facts of her new job; reception
at a salon, where, with a similar disability as me, she can
work seated. it has better incentives than her previous
job; but demands a 60-hour week, leaving her one day
free, for her children, from a previous marriage.

not to mention, Blih. our brother is a tough and heartfelt
man. he connects diversities of jobs; he body-builds, covered
with tattoos, with discipline; often on sosmed; he hosts
and keeps the family guesthouse (it’s complicated); and
he does security at cockfights.

we listen, express sympathy, and take note of what
our loved ones need; what we can say that might help,
and what we might possibly do; to be good friends
and keep our family together and strong; as our family
has done, does, and has the will to do, for us.

at the end of the night, after (surprise!) chocolate lava
cakes, rich molten cores melting into vanilla-laced, coconut-
based ice cream; the waiters having sung happy birthday
(in English), coercing the entire room (of foreigners)
to sing along; my sister and i share a hug.

send me a message whenever you need, i say; and come
visit us, whenever you can, or please. i know, i say, that he
can be a big, overgrown child, sometimes. (of what man is
this not true?) but he has a good heart. and we all pray
that he remembers it, in good time.

she murmurs several things in reply, one of which
is this (in Indonesian): i don’t want to be a bother. to which
i say, my voice as firm as i can muster: don’t you think
about that. jangan begitu. we are all afraid to be a bother;
when nothing on this earth is worth more than a friend.

as we drive home, the maskmaker and i discuss the All.
(it’s what we do. it is what marriage is, for us. just fyi.)
we both have hope, though he’s more optimistic than me.
that is his habit; he has his reasons. go tell the ai, we all
(Alhamdulillah) have our reasons.

it isn’t until the next morning that it clicks. our brother
and sister had wondered (i didn’t quite understand it at
the time), whether we do any markets (or smthng). now
i realize, and grab my phone to send the urgent text: DO NOT
give your nest-egg to crypto, mlm, or any other scam!!

after which
i say, to the giving sky —

if i am a golden calf
lets take me to the bank

//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

but equally (isos)
it is fitting (prosekein) to gratify (charizein)
not the ones in violent (sphodra) need (deein)

but those who are most able (dunamai)
to pay back (apodidonai)
the grace (charis)

// 233ε

ἀλλ᾽ ἴσως προσήκει οὐ τοῖς σφόδρα δεομένοις χαρίζεσθαι

ἀλλὰ τοῖς μάλιστα ἀποδοῦναι χάριν δυναμένοις

eta note: i am taking a rest day tomorrow
for a routine medical procedure. x

Out of wood

Tue, 28 Apr 2026 17:05:27 +0800

I come to, in a cold sweat, twisted in
the linen sheet. These nights, I’m shivering
again. As overhead, the rain continues on
and on, like a forgotten faucet in the clouds.

In darkness, the rooster crows. His hens
crowd under eaves to avoid the downpour.
The cats are asleep. And I sense your body,
tossed limbs and derelict, fragmented speech.

I dream you’re at a diner, in laughter with
some other family. Beside you sits a woman
who is blonde, like me; while I sit with your kin.
I dream we’re in a doubling argument.

When the waitress brings coffee, my cup
is shallow brew in bone. I want to raise it
to my lips. The taste recedes, an emptied kiss
of blackest mud into the muffled dawn.

A steel blade scrapes the pale surface. A piece
we salvaged from the giant, fallen pule tree.
The base diameter was twice, at least,
your height. I snapped a photo to document

the ancient proportion. The storied work.
Spent shavings accumulate in piles, on piles.
Among them, I find you; wrestling with his grim
resolve to shape a smile out of wood.

//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

for those ones will show affection (agapeein)
and will follow after (akoloutheein)
and will come to the doors
and will take exceeding amounts of pleasure (malista hedomai)
and will not know (eisontai) the least grace (charis)
and will pray (euchomai) for many good things for them

// 233ε

ἐκεῖνοι γὰρ καὶ ἀγαπήσουσιν
καὶ ἀκολουθήσουσιν
καὶ ἐπὶ τὰς θύρας ἥξουσι
καὶ μάλιστα ἡσθήσονται
καὶ οὐκ ἐλαχίστην χάριν εἴσονται
καὶ πολλὰ ἀγαθὰ αὐτοῖς εὔξονται

warning label

Mon, 27 Apr 2026 17:56:12 +0800

we have a few best friends
every one of them wears a veil
these are their reasons

when one comes in
(by then its already too late)
the heart itself goes inside-out

every one of them should
come with a warning
label

//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

and so surely indeed
in private consummation (idiais dapanaein)

it is worthy to call near (para-kaleein)
not beloveds (philoi)

but beggars (pros -aiteein)
and ones needing to be filled (deomenous plesmones)

// 233δ

καὶ μὲν δὴ καὶ ἐν ταῖς ἰδίαις δαπάναις

οὐ τοὺς φίλους ἄξιον παρακαλεῖν

ἀλλὰ τοὺς προσαιτοῦντας καὶ τοὺς δεομένους πλησμονῆς

snowflake (light) upon

Sun, 26 Apr 2026 18:12:34 +0800

moss
were the coming

ears
of spring

lets

not sent ences

this

ill
symm etry

can, in-

a warm

//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

for becoming free (apallassein)
of the greatest ills (kakos)

plentiful (pleistos)
grace (charis)

will go
will come
will be known (eisontai)

by them

// 233δ

μεγίστων γὰρ ἀπαλλαγέντες κακῶν

πλείστην χάριν αὐτοῖς εἴσονται

every day
from the other room
Al-Fatihah

ngaji for beginners

Sat, 25 Apr 2026 18:05:17 +0800

toss your compost out the window here
and wake to find a garden of impassables.
the rainy season, barely holding on, nurses
refuse; i think the earth cant help itself.

of course i arrived on an airplane of garbage
along with other harbingers of the end
of the island. i remember motorbike rides
across the sawah during the pandemic,

when it was sinking in how forever i was
here; the tropical scene windswept and quiet,
the people returning to their villages
to farm; it felt as if everyone was home.

back then, we couldnt mampir yet
and i didnt know that if you let a chili grow
it can live for years; it can become a little caterpillar-
munched tree, studded with flaming-hot fruit.

our neighbors treat me like Princess Di.
it doesnt help that i am shy; when we try
to take a walk, we end up seated, with coffee,
small-talk and gossip peppered with serious

conversation; which is my husbands work.
he cultivates connection, setting down
our roots, as i behold, just stupefied
by the spongey texture of community.

and then, i watch out of the corner of
my eye; i fall asleep amidst rotations of rice
and peanuts, tomatoes blushing on the vine
with fields of corn and sugarcane, rows

of marigolds and magenta gomphrena,
patches of green mustard and frilly cabbage,
near densely-shaded thickets of coffee and cacao.
i would absorb the pace of those in steady

negotiation with the sky, and what it gives
the terraced land, absorbing what it can,
for what it gives us — and by my daily plate,
it gives me very, very much.

and too, i read an article about a strong El Niño,
and one about the AMOC shutting down,
and news of friends in Denpasar, their flooded
houses and kos kosans; and always stuck

in traffic, in service to dollars, rubles, yuan,
the concrete surface spreading ever closer.
the village priest asks to send his daughter
to me, so she can practice her English.

of course, i say, let her come, frozen inside
with something like a knot that i cant name.
so im old enough (for here) to be a grandmother
but all the children say i look like Elsa.

so i let them see me picking up plastic,
and in the dirt, on my hands and knees, digging
up peanuts. it used to be my daily task
to ask the young, what is justice?

these days i find my figure lined and lit
inquiring at the city of necessity, ex-
perimenting with my best friends hair — ngaji.
so how shall i explain this, and to whom?

//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

yet if it is necessary (chre)
to gratify (charizesthai) most
the ones most lacking (deomenoi)

it is also fitting (prosekein) for the others

to make well (eu poieein)
not the best ones (beltistos)
but the ones most at an impasse (a-porotatoi)

// 233δ

ἔτι δὲ εἰ χρὴ τοῖς δεομένοις μάλιστα χαρίζεσθαι

προσήκει καὶ τοῖς ἄλλοις

μὴ τοὺς βελτίστους ἀλλὰ τοὺς ἀπορωτάτους εὖ ποιεῖν

broken poem / ugly poem

Fri, 24 Apr 2026 17:12:39 +0800

broken poem

if this presents itself to you
that friendship is not born
unless somebody happens
to be hungry for your heart

if this presents itself to you
that children are not made
much
nor are fathers and mothers

if this presents itself to you
finding your heart in need
and needing to acquire
a trustworthy friend

i believe you
i do not wonder why
i have been there too

but this
is not that place

make me
a broken poem

//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

then if this presents (itself) (paristanai) to you

that such strong friendship (ischuran philian)
is not born (gignomai)
unless someone happens (tugchanein)
to be loving (eros)

it is necessary (chre)
to (go) into the heart (en-thumeisthai)

that neither would we make (poieein)
children
about much (peri pollou)
nor fathers and mothers

nor would we have acquired (ktaomai)
trustworthy (pistos)
friends (philos)

who have become (gignomai) such
not from desire (epi-thumia)

but from other (heteron)
practices (epi-tedeumaton)

// 233ξ

εἰ δ᾽ ἄρα σοι τοῦτο παρέστηκεν

ὡς οὐχ οἷόν τε ἰσχυρὰν φιλίαν γενέσθαι

ἐὰν μή τις ἐρῶν τυγχάνῃ

ἐνθυμεῖσθαι χρὴ

ὅτι οὔτ᾽ ἂν τοὺς ὑεῖς περὶ πολλοῦ ἐποιούμεθα
οὔτ᾽ ἂν τοὺς πατέρας καὶ τὰς μητέρας

οὔτ᾽ ἂν πιστοὺς φίλους ἐκεκτήμεθα

οἳ οὐκ ἐξ ἐπιθυμίας τοιαύτης γεγόνασιν

ἀλλ᾽ ἐξ ἑτέρων ἐπιτηδευμάτων

ugly poem

lettuce share
sandwich of ends

open-face
if-only

our eggs are smeared
with chickenshit
no lie

look at all those words

does it mean
i can take
the weekend off now

does it mean
my broken poem
is being swallowed up

(may it
be so)

and digested by
the ugly one

you turn
me into

🌓

just guessing (silly trilogia)

Thu, 23 Apr 2026 17:21:23 +0800

fool me baby kiss the dice
fool me til my work is thrice-
done and death be (tenderly) well-come

into the mess of heavens nature
(un)tangling dots of fairy light
and solemn practicing of ends

the bodys end (heartbroke) remembering
the sweeter end (lovesong) right here
the strangers end (artist) in-bending-thought

a sandwich (!) for these things are signs
of a long-time friendship of will-
being and where may-happens-wonder

//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

for these things are signs (tekmeria)
of a long-time friendship (philia)
of will-being (fut. part. eimi)

// 233ξ

ταῦτα γάρ ἐστι φιλίας πολὺν χρόνον ἐσομένης τεκμήρια

Other-taught

Wed, 22 Apr 2026 17:06:09 +0800

(interview with the maskmaker by his wife)

living in a house of masks
is not for everybody
but it is real

the proportions of a mask
belie the ratio
of its invitation

what the heart desires
will not be had
without a mask

a mask is not an enemy
a mask is not a lie
it is a method

to have and hold a face
to have and hold a want
with the un-willing

to try and try again
to turn and turn away
the many willing ways

when a mask completes its turn
from the mouth is born
a lover in reverse

//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

(on the one hand)
holding (echein)
agreement (suggnome)
with the un-willing (aekousios)

(on the other)
trying (peiraein)
to turn away (apotrepein)
the willing (ekousioa)

// 233ξ

τῶν μὲν ἀκουσίων συγγνώμην ἔχων

τὰ δὲ ἑκούσια πειρώμενος ἀποτρέπειν

previously

🌒

oligen orgen

Tue, 21 Apr 2026 17:03:00 +0800

this morning i wake up still thinking
about the different words for strength.

and worrying if i should change my word
for kraton to reflect mastery or rulership.

and repeating the greek outloud to feel
the shapes and sounds that occupy my mouth.

ischuran echthran — i keep saying it because
the ugliness is exciting and pleasurable.

and then there is oligen orgen — which i very
eagerly desire to hear you speak.

so i turn to you, as i would beg you to repeat
these slightly stirring words.

but when i see you watching me, with your
patient and familiar expression —

just then, the wonder of this given shelter
plants me softly on my knees.

//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

not through small things
taking up (ana-aireein)
strong hatred (ischuran echthran)

but through big things
slowly (bradeos)
making (poieein)
slight temper (oligen orgen)

// 233ξ

οὐδὲ διὰ σμικρὰ ἰσχυρὰν ἔχθραν ἀναιρούμενος

ἀλλὰ διὰ μεγάλα βραδέως ὀλίγην ὀργὴν ποιούμενος

in papyrus

Mon, 20 Apr 2026 15:27:00 +0800

oh my, it took you long enough
and did you take it all the way
to plant a marbled egg in two
by two to taste a golden yolk

our hungriest return the view
by which wonder, the cry by then
names fire, brilliant ballistic ire
a bulls-eyed planet sunside-out

i see my linen shroud unshred
unread by your unlovers touch
by now and just the way you are
by here, to lay me in papyrus

//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

not under love (eros)
lesser-being (hessaomai)

but over myself
being strong (krateein)

// 233ξ

οὐχ ὑπ᾽ ἔρωτος ἡττώμενος

ἀλλ᾽ ἐμαυτοῦ κρατῶν

(also muddy)

Ophelia revisited

Sun, 19 Apr 2026 15:55:16 +0700

my grief remains for the flowers, the herbs,
the growth habits i learned to recognize,
the pungent smells of bruised leaves, and
a lake with which i had grown familiar. only
with hesitation do i crush a sprig of rosemary.

the plants and seasons here are different.
i try not to use Latinate species names, or
the determinacy of words to describe life, as
a guest. sometimes it seems inevitable, and
i contribute to the loss already underway.

nothing is more miraculous than a human
body. becoming container for the self-strange,
unbecoming as that may be, mine followed me
here, reiterating its lesson without the black-
clad metaphor: no entry gained by force, beyond

barest survival. and the last time you
came begging here; when her hand was offered
to mine in marriage, now as i was candlelit royalty
in a fortress built of aging apples; the last time i
invited forth the rampaging fourth wall, to cross

the threshold of my door, to hold the iffy
soliloquy of me; would be the last time for
it all. no other help to meet the human
who doesn’t make and keep a home to serve
the stranger, the migrant, the nameless refugee.

//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

primarily not
to present-being (pareimi)
pleasure (hedone)
(for you)

will i together-be (suneimi)
(with you)
attending (therapeuein)

but to lingering-doing (mellein)
help (opheleia)
to-be (esesthai)
by you

// 233β

πρῶτον μὲν οὐ τὴν παροῦσαν ἡδονὴν

θεραπεύων συνέσομαί

σοι

ἀλλὰ καὶ τὴν μέλλουσαν ὠφελίαν ἔσεσθαι

photo from April 2019

fairytale of negation

Sat, 18 Apr 2026 15:01:00 +0700

i must be spirit in fairy compulsion
because i have always followed your “no”
and as i have married toad after toad
i have become a princess of the sea

my hapless plea, dont try to mermaid me
its been too long since i left history
when i look down i sing an empty round
flowing sea-stained and tattered by the wind

when on a journey through the mirrorring
deep blue, long since grown crone, thorny and cold
you, bold, would discover there not wisdom
but a coy face, set flawlessly in marble

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

but if you believe (peithein)
in me

// 233β

ἐὰν δέ μοι πείθῃ

someday i piece it together

Fri, 17 Apr 2026 16:15:52 +0700

detachment isn’t
abandonment.

balancing one stone
on top of another
heart to heart to heart.

the only time is right
all day / every day / wanting
to change / for someone else.

talk me into staring into the mirror
then watch as my reflection
talks me out of it.

under gray skies
the leaf buds of tulip trees
are splitting open.

we pull on the distance
spun by the wind / all of us
the thoughts of water.

down you go / into it
almost careless in its generosity
when all i need / is silence.

//

Hyperverse is made from pieces of other bloggers' work; follow links to read the wholes. Praise belongs to messengers of the heart.

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

and so it much more
belongs (prosekein)
to the beloveds (eraesthai)

to have mercy (eleeein)

rather than
jealously to emulate (zeloun)
them

233β

ὥστε πολὺ μᾶλλον ἐλεεῖν τοῖς ἐρωμένοις ἢ ζηλοῦν αὐτοὺς προσήκει

🌑

ultimum addictum

Thu, 16 Apr 2026 15:16:00 +0700

Yes, all will be so simple when everything is said and done.
O beloved one —
for now, I turn the unknown world round how i never got over You.

//

listening to
Sicut cervus
by Giovanni Pierluigi da Palestrina

//

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

when (on the other hand
it is) fortunate (eu-tucheein)

of things beside those (para ekeinon)
not worthy (axios)
of pleasure (hedone)

(love) forces (anagkazein)
praise (epainos)
to happen (tugchanein)

// 233β

εὐτυχοῦντας δὲ καὶ

τὰ μὴ ἡδονῆς ἄξια παρ᾽ ἐκείνων

ἐπαίνου ἀναγκάζει τυγχάνειν

floodnotes

Wed, 15 Apr 2026 14:53:00 +0700

in open pain
stripped naked
floodnotes

you feel it too
cant you
why cant you

nowhere i go
lose what i gain
may it rain

may it rain
this broken love
be whole again

//

listening to
A Love Supreme
by John Coltrane

Phaedrus: (as Lysias, cont.)

when (on the one hand
it is) unfortunate (dus-tucheein)

(love) makes (poieein)
belief-practice (nomizein)

that what doesnt
hand over (para-echein)
pain (lupe)
to others

is grievous (aniaros)

// 233β

δυστυχοῦντας μέν

ἃ μὴ λύπην τοῖς ἄλλοις παρέχει

ἀνιαρὰ ποιεῖ νομίζειν