mesogeios:

“Keats writes about the tendency of poets to annihilate their own identities by the chameleon-like absorption of other, more ‘poetic’ identities. Emily Dickinson delights in the meeting of another Nobody: ‘I’m Nobody! Who are you? / Are You—Nobody—Too?’ Walt Whitman asks—and answers—with self-assurance, ‘Do I contradict myself? / Very well then I contradict myself, / (I am large, I contain multitudes.)’ T. S. Eliot sees poetry as ‘an escape from personality.’ Faulkner wishes for a ‘markless’ life that could be summarized in one sentence, ‘He made his books and died.’”

— Katia Mitova, from “The Pessoa Syndrome” 

die-rosastrasse:

“orphic”

— (ˈɔr fɪk), adjective | Categorized as something deeply mysterious, orphic encompasses anything which is enchanting, subliminal and beyond human comprehension.
(via niimph)