December 2011
22 posts
ohhhhhhh 2011, you silly bitch. more on you later.
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All day it has been raining,
and all day this poem has been sinking
into my skin like sticky blossoms.
The sky a grey-blue bucket,
heavy and tarnished to its rims with
copper lightning—shaking, rumbling,
this rain I have carried in ruddy pails
from far north to the sun-thick South.
The earth is splitting at its seams,
goldenrod and foxglove and an abundant
green spilling from the...
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“If someone told me to write a book on morality, it would have a hundred pages...”
– Albert Camus (via fuckyeahexistentialism)
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“Call me what you wish
and no matter what that is
I will call you home.”
– Daily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson (via tylerknott)
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alright that’s not true:
i’m ready to run.
it’s been way too long since i’ve packed up basic necessities of what i own and zipped it up, slung it over my shoulder, walked away. i hate the grey basic skyline here, the low hum of suburban mediocrity, that gradual, invisible decline, that passive baseline acceptance.
i don’t wear shoes, i wear sunglasses, i wear...
don’t you know by now
if I can’t say it that right way;
silence.
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warsan versus melancholy.: first thought after... →
warsanshire:
-
‘come with every wound
and every woman you’ve ever loved
every lie you’ve ever told
and whatever it is that keeps you up at night
every mouth you’ve punched in
all the blood you’ve ever tasted
come with every enemy you’ve ever made
and all the family you’ve ever buried
and…
“I do not consider myself less ignorant than most people. I have been and still...”
– Hermann Hesse, Demian, trans. Michael Roloff and Michael Lebeck (via aneffectacosmetic)
“Scars like small road maps
to the wrong ways I traveled
to be in your arms.”
– Daily Haiku on Love by Tyler Knott Gregson (via tylerknott)
all that business about constructive outlets aside, some days you just need to listen to Taking Back Sunday and fucking cry in your car.
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“So here’s the long and short of it, Wearing Thin: there is no why. You don’t...”
– Dear Sugar http://therumpus.net/2011/12/dear-sugar-the-rumpus-advice-column-91-a-big-life/
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“Accept the gift of every head
turning in your direction. Tell
them, regally,...”
– Reginald Harris, excerpt from Prelude to a Saturday Night (via holdonmagnolia)
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“Doing something only when you “feel like it” is a guaranteed formula for...”
– Josh Cox (via barefoot-runner-girl)
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I love yoga, I do. yoga is a core fibre in the fabric of my innermost collective. yoga has carried me, sobbing and writhing, through dark alleys and windowless prisons of my own making. it answers the questions that left me breathless and alone at the end of a long run, down a long boardwalk, straight to the water’s edge, at 6am, or 10:00 at night, or sometimes more than once a day. and in...
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“I quit being afraid when my first venture failed and the sky didn’t fall down.”
– Allen H. Neuharth (via fuckyeahyoga)
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opened:
Maybe because I hold intelligent men to a higher standard or because they’re enemies cloaked as allies, but the “angry beta-male” variety of misogyny is the worst kind.
Molly Lambert’s piece on how being a non-normative bro doesn’t automatically make you a feminist can’t be re-posted enough.
“If you deny women the same personhood you give yourself, you are not a liberal....
I know you still read this, because I know you, and it really bothers me.
and yeah, I’m gonna be a real passive aggressive asshole about it, and leave this here; thats how much it fucking bothers me.
so next time you come here to hear what I have to say (most unfairly, most cruelly, considering the decision you made to push me squarely out of your life) you can read this and know exactly...
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so much joy it hurts: The Quiet World, Jeffrey... →
kathleenjoy:
In an effort to get people to look into each other’s eyes more, and also to appease the mutes, the government has decided to allot each person exactly one hundred and sixty-seven words, per day. When the phone rings, I put it to my ear without saying hello. In the restaurant I point at chicken…
this is one of my all time favorites.
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Sunset II, Margaret Atwood
kathleenjoy:
Sunset, now that we’re finally in it is not what we thought.
Did you expect this violet black soft edge to outer space, fragile as blown ash and shuddering like oil, or the reddish orange that flows into your lungs and through your fingers? The waves smooth mouthpink light over your eyes, fold after fold. This is the sun you breathe in, pale blue. Did you expect it to be this...