May 2012
34 posts
“So it seems time to pronounce a rule about American popular culture: the Golden...”
– What “Mad Men” Shows About American Pop Culture | The New Yorker (via kateoplis)
Jesus christ, is mumford & sons at Easter Prom really worth 70 dollars?
Holy crap. No wonder hipsters are funded by their parents, being a hipster is a lot of money.
tumblrbot asked: WHAT IS YOUR EARLIEST HUMAN MEMORY?
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Swimming, swirling, slippery demons encircling what nature gave me or what my birth beat into me. Was that a pitter? No, it was a patter, from the wing- walkers of they master. Consciousness breaks into my sedated, bedded, skull and rips my eyelids open; claws extended. Chemical reactions jerk my limbs and twist my tongue into crevices between my teeth. No mutters leave my lips when you creep into...
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hi, this is trueadventures/ellen. I just wanted my...
so voila!
“[Some years ago, a child was asked
whether he liked radio or television best.]...”
– Jack Gilbert, from “A Man in Black and White” (via the-final-sentence)
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I think the most annoying thing about the stuff I am working on now is downloading/using photoshop
comakid:
my adam’s apple as a biblical reference. biting my neck as orignal sin. the entire human population will pay for our sexual tension. we are responsible for everyone. baited breath. hands on each other’s bodies. people don’t matter.
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“A shelf farther back contains general humanities- collections of Japanese...”
– Haruki Murakami from “Kafka on the Shore”
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December
The first real snow of the season called to me from inside my darkened room. The flakes dotted my window and beckoned me to leave my abode which smelled like old food. Carefully I stood up from the bed, stepping over pieces of clothes, my wallet and a discarded box of hot chocolate. On went the pea coat, donned was the red knitted scarf, keys dropped into my pocket. Before my foot stepped out of...
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"Run" OP: 12/2/10 Edited: 5/19/12
I am standing at the end of a hallway. My back stands straight against the wall and there is no tone detectable to man that bangs against my eardrums except for the buzz of the fluorescent lights that never go out. You never know what time of day it is when you are here, there are no windows and there are no clocks. Time is endless, day and night are seamless.
A voice whispers in my ears Run,...
in the red
brightlightsloudnoises:
do you belong behind textbooks in line buying breath mints and pregnancy tests out of love in auto part stores electronics liquidation sales bending over to pick up cards for magazine subscriptions listening to broken people scream advertisements for law offices, buffalo wings, window tint because they need to pay their lawyers, restaurants, mechanics
do you...
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Love Letter II
I crept into your bedroom and my eyes gazed onto your naked, sleeping figure buried in a ple- thora of silk. Your feet squirmed like a child who was learning how to swim and your skeleton fingers were clutching imaginary hair. You leaned to an invisible ear to whisper Italian words, though I was deaf to your language I knew your voice carried secrets and intimacy. My body slipped...
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O to struggle against great odds, to meet enemies undaunted! To be entirely alone with them, to find how much one can stand! To look strife, torture, prison, popular odium, face to face! To mount the scaffold, to advance to the muzzles of guns with perfect nonchalance! To be indeed a God!
-Walt Whitman “A Song of Joys”
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The Sabbath
We weren’t speaking. It was snowing, temps dipping into the teens. You and I were playing Frisbee because we’d fought all day, and it’s a tonic to get outside and throw the sharp disk at one another with cold dumb hands. Then the animals appeared. Horses—male, I think—a pair of grayish steeds climbed the man-cleared path to the softball field in Prospect Park, where we stood at...
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Cartography
The pads of our feet felt the pulse that grew and flowed beneath the dirt to which we would one day return.
We excommunicated reality and sought shelter among the mountains that enclosed serenity.
Together, we made love against the mineral soldiers and you modled my body into a forest that God
Could not conceive. My geography offered itself to your maps. The grooves ...
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Nineteenth
When I go home, when a dour snow touches the silent water, I remember him.
Unearthly calls of gunshot echoed against the sea and February never shivered more.
Prayer was unfamiliar, death was foreign, but we clasped our hands silently
that night as our mothers cradled us like newborns and we wept.
The jackets of our fathers swallowed us as our shoulders did not know
the weight of...
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In a Field with God
I miss the way your body folded like cigarette smoke when we tangled, enamored in each others limbs. Your skin and voice flowed like tap water, smooth, concise, and evenly, as we finally realized just how far away the moon was. __
We were but specks upon a mountain breathing intimately with one another.
__
Fingertips painted child secrets against razor cheeks and ...
April 2012
2 posts
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Love Letter I I promise that when you get here I’ll show you those vibrant colors only Van Gogh saw. Everyone is too busy to stop and see the royal reds in the ancient tree bark or those romantic purples that line the sunsets humanity has seem to forgotten about-
but not us.
We will stop mid-breeze and face the world we haven’t seen since birth. We will inhale the wind and shower in ...