BIRDS OF A GORGEOUS FEATHER

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When peacocks roam gas stations in search of sustenance . . . .

ECHOLOCATION

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The whales can’t hear each other calling

in the noise-cluttered sea: they beach themselves.

I saw one once— heaved onto the sand with kelp

stuck to its blue-gray skin.

Heavy and immobile

 

it lay like a great sadness.

And it was hard to breathe with all the stink.

Its elliptical black eyes had stilled, were mostly dry,

and barnacles clustered on its back

like tiny brown volcanoes.

 

Imagining the other whales, their roving weight,

their blue-black webbing of the deep,

I stopped knowing how to measure my own grief.

And this one, large and dead on the sand

with its unimaginable five-hundred-pound heart.

Sally Bliumis-Dunn | Second Skin

Juana Olga Barrios | Berlin, 2014

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There are moments when we resort to senseless formulations and advance absurd claims to hide straightforward feelings.

Elena Ferrante | The Story of a New Name

 

WHO IS MAGGIE DOYNE?

One of my MAD non-profits doing extraordinary work in the world, one child at a time. Maggie’s story is staggering.

 ♥ VERONICA + PAOLO  ♥

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SFMoMA | 2016

We come often and usually pick one or two paintings to deeply contemplate. I’m an artist and Paolo likes to paint with me in my studio. I talk to him a lot about the lives of the artists. We’ve just returned from two months in the lake district in northern Italy. Fourteen cousins and lots and lots of pasta!

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Notebooks | 2016

TRULY MADLY SUNDAY

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“Like that?”

MAD MISSIVES

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WORD | The Structure of Gratitude

THE ZEN LUNATIC BARD | Roy Choi

GET THAT LIFE | Renée Elise Goldsberry

ASHLEY JUDD | Because she can + Abortion rights

photograph | MARK ABEIT

Gracias, RosaMaria!♥

THE THING IS

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to love life, to love it even
when you have no stomach for it
and everything you’ve held dear
crumbles like burnt paper in your hands,
your throat filled with the silt of it.
When grief sits with you, its tropical heat
thickening the air, heavy as water
more fit for gills than lungs;
when grief weights you like your own flesh
only more of it, an obesity of grief,
you think, How can a body withstand this?
Then you hold life like a face
between your palms, a plain face,
no charming smile, no violet eyes,
and you say, yes, I will take you
I will love you, again.

Ellen Bass | Mules of Love

Juana Olga Barrios | Eve, 2013

MADNESS @ SFMoMA

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I ♥ SF