Christina Tudor-Sideri

Forthcoming on April 16, An Absence of Sea, a letter across time woven from dreams, intimacies, lived fragments, and remembered voices, where the self meets its double and those who echo within it. erratumpress.com/an-absence-of-… My gratitude to @AnsgarAllen and @press_erratum

Incoming by two great Socrates contributors. @dreamsofbeing_

MELANIE INDEX by Eric Blix | *out 30 April* erratumpress.com/melanie-index

“And if I’m homesick it’s a window / shrouded with ice where a young girl traces a name / on the glass that’s beginning to look like my name. / It’s the sky taking shape before me in the silence / like a ghost who makes nothing come true.” —Susan Stewart

"[Y]ou look around yourself at those who don’t know, with the most extreme wisdom and most extreme naivety. With a strange joy in your sorrow. And in the joy the strange bliss of feeling you’re entirely against death. Death loves me ..."

i'll be reading from these two this Sat in Manchester at Peter Barlow's Cigarette, Carlton Club, 4-6pm eventbrite.co.uk/e/peter-barlow…

Is that still me burned beyond recognition? I cannot gather my memories around me anymore. Oh life, life: being outside. And I in flames. No one recognizes me. Rilke (translation Franz Wright) * (these are not my markings, I would never underline a poem in pen)

today @minorlits ... Angst — Hélène Cixous (tr. Sophie Lewis) minorliteratures.com/2026/03/18/ang…

@RomeoOriogun Thank you for reading 🖤

“I return to you, ardent and monastic, I return to say that what lies beyond the gates of the mind is something you might never encounter….I plead with you to bear in mind that time is never willing, nor able, to show us everything.” —@dreamsofbeing_

today @MinorLits ... “The white space on the page represents the silences, omissions, the unspeakable and the unknowable”: An Interview with @erin_heremeroar — Cristina Politano minorliteratures.com/2026/03/17/the…

@adavidsouthard 🖤

@dreamsofbeing_ “Look, the trees are still there; the houses we inhabit still stand. We alone pass by everything like a fleeting exchange.”

How strange that things remain where they were when someone is gone; the world continues to offer itself as before—and yet, each object now appears within another horizon, one in which a familiar center of orientation has disappeared.

@adavidsouthard Yes, the quiet endurance of the world around us. This is why I like Rilke's Second Elegy so much.

@dreamsofbeing_ Objects survive us with an ease that I find, depending on the hour, either very peaceful or very terrible.

@slowberlin Yes... 🖤

@dreamsofbeing_ That sounds like a very old tradition…and yet it can’t be so old because clock time. But it makes sense: death is a stopped clock that we can observe (and grieve) as we continue ticking. The brutal reminder that ours will stop one day too.

@mikra_namani Reminded me of the epigraph to a work in progress, from Shadows of Forgotten Ancestors: "These forest graveyards were sad and desolate, forgotten by God and man, and only heathcocks hissed and snakes writhed here. The severe and sorrowful silence of nature ruled over everything."

‘Hier wußten selbst die götter keinen rat Der die beklommne Brust mit Trost erfüllte Geheimnisvoll war dieses Unholds Pfad’ ‘Here even the gods had no advice How to fill uneasy hearts with comfort And this monster’s path was full of mystery’ -Novalis, Hymnen an die Nacht

@the_beka It feels that way most of the time, yes...

@dreamsofbeing_ Unfortunately, everything remains the same; the streets, the walls of the house, nothing can notice his absence. Only you...

@MisterBossy No, not this time, just life...

@dreamsofbeing_ this is from a work in progress?

@MisterBossy Yes, I thought about this earlier...

@dreamsofbeing_ "Conversations resumed after a period of mourning mask the absolute change and restore to the survivors their solidity" (Merleau-Ponty, "Cezanne's Doubt")

@slowberlin I have fixated on this since early childhood, I don't quite know why... telling time in relation to my dead... Perhaps because of that tradition we used to have in the village of stopping the clocks at the exact moment of passing.

@dreamsofbeing_ Hadn’t considered that consciously but absolutely true

@slowberlin Yes, this is the feeling that returns with each death for me as well, doing things for the first time. And also living in a time that does not know them—once the month passes, then the year, and you are no longer able to say, I was with them this month, I was with them this year.

@dreamsofbeing_ When my father died I had this uncanny feeling that I was doing everything — brushing my teeth, crossing the road — for the first time. Then I realised it was the first time … without my father in the world. (I wasn’t very close to him; must be so much harder for those closer).