Let me peer out at the world through your lens. (Maybe I’ll shudder, or gasp, or tilt my head in a question.) Let me see how your blue is my turquoise and my orange is your gold. Suddenly binary stars, we have startling gravity. Let’s com
Oh beloved soft pinks, peaches, and cream. Come dance with me.
New on Substack: Of Solitude and Floods
A poet is someone who can pour light into a spoon, then raise it to nourish your beautiful parched, holy mouth. Hafiz
And here they are, still cultivating imaginary landscapes of hope and pacification while standing in flooded grounds and blowing in the wind. Awake 24/7 And here we are. 🙈 🙉 🙊 Asleep 24/7 #sumud
‘There is no ultimate arrival. Only continual reflection, failure, refinement, and re-commitment.’ -John Wineland
. . *The Golden Apples of the Sun* ——————————— Like nail-biting is the habit of hanging ‘things’ on walls. Putting objects ‘together’. ‘Arranging’ m
Most of the sighing, the gasping, the breathing to the depth of sorrows and coming back to shallow murmuring is all happening without a witness.
There is so much anxiety built into this process, just as much as in life itself, and yet, I do this anyway, day by day. I am fooled to believe and convince myself that making things truly pacifies me. Perhaps the illusion is the reward itself. T
What is wrong with ambiguity? She asked as we walked together on a dirt path from here, to there. I shrugged dismissively and kept quiet. Deep down I knew there was nothing, absolutely nothing wrong. And yet, still on that path, comfort was no where
Randomly and Orderly. Today on Substack. My 50th weekly piece since January. Almost a whole year since I began writing, and it’s something so nourishing, continuing to open a whole new world for me each and every week.
Base layers like corsets and other forms of insulation, self isolation, and protection.
Trapped threads, scripts, and scribbles. MIXT Working with old books Covers and content In-person workshop 4 days February 2026 Salem, Oregon Using old book covers As canvas Book parts As collage fodder Registration open 🤗 orlyavineri.com/work
*NEW* In February. An old workshop. In my little place by the creek in the Willamette Valley, in Oregon, one hour south of Portland, one, north of Eugene. There is only room for 1 of me and 6 of you. It’ll be intimate and cozy, still winter
‘What we call the personality is often a jumble of genuine traits and adopted coping styles that do not reflect our true self at all but the loss of it.’ -Gabor Maté
I found it on a beautiful, sunny day. I found it after great loss: Fresh verdant soil, wet and flourishing. -Fadwa Tuqan
Dark visions and sweet illuminations. The myth of permanence and the sweetness of presence. An interplay between forever and never. But always now is the hightend sensuality and the numbing dullness. Forgetfulness of all that was ever yearned for. R
From the old series IN THE MIDDLE. In the middle of the cauldron I dwell. There I slowly simmer. Like a bundle of papers, rust, and Hibiscus tightly wrapped in twine. Just below the scorching point. Safe enough to keep me dreaming. To soak one da
New to read and listen to on Substack this morning. Loose Skins and Tight Grips Vintage botanical prints.
“Never let go of that fiery sadness called desire.” -Patti Smith