Rebelle Society

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Andrea Balt

poetry

My Life Had Stood, a Loaded Gun: Emily Dickinson.

On one hand, she embodies the two ingredients that account for a writer’s freakability levels: the forsaken art of solitude, which she took to new, deadly levels, and her passionate romance with language. Combine this with the mysterious, poetic elegance watching you behind closed doors. Doors  ...

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poetry

After a While, You Learn: Jorge Luis Borges.

I like him because he used his art as an inescapable way into the tunnels of the heart, where -- with closed eyes but open mouth -- he bravely captured his own darkness, and then brought it out into the ephemeral, mundane light for the world to touch: Here, here, don’t be afraid, it’s only flesh.

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