GEORGE, AS TOLD BY THE DICTIONARY OF OBSCURE SORROWS. agnosthesia n. the state of not knowing how you really feel about something, which forces you to sift through clues hidden in your behavior, as if you were some other person—noticing a twist of acid in your voice, an obscene amount of effort put into something trifling, or an inexplicable weight on your shoulders that makes it difficult to get out of bed.

ambedo n. a kind of melancholic trance in which you become completely absorbed in vivid sensory details—raindrops skittering down a window, tall trees leaning in the wind, clouds of cream swirling in your coffee—briefly soaking in the experience of being alive, an act that is done purely for its own sake.

ecstatic shock n. the surge of energy upon catching a glance from someone you like—a thrill that starts in your stomach, arcs up through your lungs and flashes into a spontaneous smile—which scrambles your ungrounded circuits and tempts you to chase that feeling with a kite and a key.

heartworm n. a relationship or friendship that you can’t get out of your head, which you thought had faded long ago but is still somehow alive and unfinished, like an abandoned campsite whose smoldering embers still have the power to start a forest fire.

rigor samsa n. a kind of psychological exoskeleton that can protect you from pain and contain your anxieties, but always ends up cracking under pressure or hollowed out by time—and will keep growing back again and again, until you develop a more sophisticated emotional structure, held up by a strong and flexible spine, built less like a fortress than a cluster of treehouses.

ringlorn adj. the wish that the modern world felt as epic as the one depicted in old stories and folktales—a place of tragedy and transcendence, of oaths and omens and fates, where everyday life felt like a quest for glory, a mythic bond with an ancient past, or a battle for survival against a clear enemy, rather than an open-ended parlor game where all the rules are made up and the points don’t matter.

waldosia n. a condition characterized by scanning faces in a crowd looking for a specific person who would have no reason to be there, which is your brain’s way of checking to see whether they’re still in your life, subconsciously patting its emotional pockets before it leaves for the day.
GEORGE, AS TOLD BY IMAGES.
GEORGE, AS TOLD BY YASMIN BELKHYR POEMS.
"I am still the girl I’ve known myself to be. I am not left wanting, I am made wanting. I make myself and I want. This is always an unsubtle and sleepless dream. I look away and up, make my best eye contact with the walls. Grip my thigh with nails, wish for teeth. Wish for mouth, wish for breath. I indulge elaborate fantasies, mark each possible future as fiction. A story to be expanded deliriously but never startled into existence. I don’t know how to ask for what I want. Something pulls me into myself, tangled and quiet. I remember the rocks, at sea, the moon an envelope of light. I remember drawing back: I remember my hesitation." "All I really want is for someone to touch my mouth and mean it. I dance in dangerous fables, walk a woods with trees white as bone. It’s always winter and I’m always pressing my face against something warm with blood. I know how men love to give answers, tell stories. In this one, the girl dies in reverse – laughs then births an arrow from her chest. Later, I find my body bathed in glass; grey light swims lazy across my skin, a kind of honey. The clouds surrender then weep. In this endless soft of snow, I lack the patience to haunt. Instead, I hunt, every footstep a grief. I touch my hands to my lips. I leave nothing in my wake. I never ask the same question twice."
"Dear god: I just want to be believed in. Dear god: I had a syrup dream – the sky was grey and sinking, clouds of sugar and milk. Dear god: We don’t have churches anymore, just the blood that we kept in them. Dear god: I named the animals and now they’ve named me back – deathgirl, gentle hand, silver teeth. Dear god: In the end, water is thicker than blood. Water is heavier than anything else. Dear god: Laila killed those cats with her bare hands. Dear god: I have difficulty with faith. Dear god: I have difficulty with apologies." "Well, of course I’ve tried lavender. And pulling my memory out, ribbonlike and dripping. And shrieking into my pillow. And writing the poems. And making more friends. And baking warm brown cookies. And therapy. And intimacy. And pictures of rainbows. And all of the movies about lovers and the terrible things they do to each other. And watching the ones in other languages. And leaving the subtitles off. And listening to the language. And forgetting my name. And feeling the dirt on my skin. And screaming in the shower. And changing my shampoo. And living alone. And cutting my hair. And buying a turtle. And petting the cat. And traveling. And writing more poems. And touching a different body. And digging a grave. And digging a grave. Of course, I’ve tried it. Of course I have."
GEORGE, AS TOLD BY MUSIC & LYRICS.
tolerate it
"but what would you do if i break free and leave us in ruins, took this dagger in me and removed it, gain the weight of you then lose it? believe me, i could do it."
gethsemane
"excavating down, you'd find the drowning and the drowned, and then there's us, babe. you could walk to our memorial, but it's pouring, and it ends how you'd expect."
late night feelings
"i weigh the water. i feel it all. i ask myself a million questions in the dark. i lay in silence, but silence talks. it tells me heaven is no closer than it was."
everything i wanted
"i had a dream i got everything i wanted. not what you'd think, and if i'm being honest, it might've been a nightmare to anyone who might care."
running up that hill
"you don't want to hurt me, but see how deep the bullet lies. unaware i'm tearing you asunder. there is thunder in our hearts."
pink lightning
"warm water rises. it still feels like i can't stop crying. hold me inside it. it still feels like a storm not dying, and all that was undone was done when we were young."
my own soul's warning
"it kept on rattling through my days and cutting up my nights like a goddamn knife, and it got me thinking, no matter how far, i just wanted to get back to where you are."
song for zula
"honey, i saw love. you see, it came to me. it put its face up to my face so i could see. then i saw love disfigure me into something i am not recognizing."
telepath
"half the time i'm lost, afraid that you're just borrowed. it don't matter much to me, man, i'm not afraid to die. baby, are you with me? do you forgive me?"
GEORGE, AS TOLD BY THE SECRET LIVES OF COLOR. silver "perhaps superstitions stem from silver's link with the night. while its more illustrious sibling gold is traditionally twinned with the sun, silver is equated with the moon. silver also waxes and wanes in alternate cycles of polishing and tarnishing. one minute it is bright and reflective, the next it is eclipsed." (50)

acid yellow "during the political upheavals of the 1970s, the childlike smiley was co-opted as a symbol of subversion. by 1988 it was a pop-culture phenomenon, inextricably linked with music and the new club scene. a yellow smiley was used on the uk cover for the talking heads' song "psycho killer," on "beat dis" by bomb the bass, on an iconic flyer for london's shoom club, and later—with crosses for eyes and a squirming mouth—as an informal logo for the band nirvana. a blood-spattered version was also the primary visual motif of watchmen, the 1985 dystopian graphic novel. soon the acid yellow of the smiley seemed out to become the signature color of the dance-happy youth, euphoric one moment, insidious, chemical, and rebellious the next." (74-75)

shocking pink "daisy fellowes was a notorious, transatlantic bad girl. she was 'the beautiful madame de pompadour of the period, dangerous as an albatross.' to others, she was 'a molotov cocktail in a mainbocher suit.' one of her numerous vices was shopping, and it was one of her purchases from cartier that unleashed this scandalous shade of pink on the world: the bright pink tête de bélier, a 17.47-carat diamond once belonging to russian royalty. fellowes wore it one day when meeting one of her favorite designers, elsa schiaparelli. it was love at first sight. 'the color flashed in front of my eyes,' schiaparelli later wrote. 'bright, impossible, impudent, becoming, life giving, like all the lights and the birds and the fish in the world together, a shocking color, pure and undiluted.'" (126-127)

amaranth "'a rose and an amaranth blossomed side by side in a garden,' begins aesop's fable. the amaranth, a leggy plant with fresh green leaves and dense, catkin-like blooms, speaks to her neighbor. 'how i envy your beauty and your sweet scent!' but the rose replies, a little sadly: 'i bloom but for a time: my petals soon wither and fall, and then i die. but your flowers never fade, they are everlasting.' garlands of amaranth were used to honor heroes like achilles because they hinted, with their long-lasting blooms, at immortality." (130)

electric blue "the idea of electric blue has always been shorthand for modernity. for the victorians, witnessing the latest electrical innovations creep from the lab and factories into smart hotels and then individual homes, it must have seemed as if the future and the present were coalescing. this shade has—apart from a brief spell in the 1980s and 1990s—dominated our imaginings of a technologically controlled destiny. the technology in minority report is powered by electric blue. similar light can be seen in both the 1982 and 2010 tron films, in publicity stills for inception, and in the disturbing dystopian fate humanity suffers in wall-e. although we see it as the color of the future, we are clearly more than a little unnerved by electric blue; perhaps we don't trust ourselves with the forces at our disposal. as some know all too well, the cost of mistakes can be devastating." (202-203)

cerulean "on february 17, 1901, carlos casagemas, a spanish poet and artist, was having drinks with friends when he pulled out a gun and shot himself in the right temple. his friends were distraught, none more so than pablo picasso, who had never quite recovered from watching his sister die six years previously. his grief cast a pall over his works for several years. he abandoned almost the entire palette, except for the one color that could adequately express his grief and loss: blue. third on the list of picasso's last paint order, below "white, permanent" and "white, silver", is "blue, cerulean." (204-205)