February 2012
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Demeter, Waiting
wwnorton:
No. Who can bear it. Only someone who hates herself, who believes to pull a hand back from a daughter’s cheek is to put love into her pocket— like one of those ashen Christian philosophers, or a war-bound soldier. She is gone again and I will not bear it. I will drag my grief through a winter of my own making, refuse any meadow that recycles itself into hope. Shit on the cicadas, dry...
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fluttering-slips:
What a mouth will do
Kiss the impossible hope that love will last. An end to looking as if for one glove. Swallow the sweet lust of fruit—one way a body can be pleased. Tell others why. Tell others nothing. Feel the tongue and how goodness and mercy can flow like a river from the north or how it can rage as only rage can and know there isn’t much to say after...
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My Love for You Is So Embarrassingly
wwnorton:
grand…would you mind terribly, my groundling, if I compared it to the Hindenburg (I mean, before it burned)—that vulnerable, elephantine
dream of transport, a fabric Titanic on an ocean of air? There: with binoculars, dear, you can just make me out, in a gondola window, wildly
flapping both arms as the ship’s shadow moves like a vagrant country across the country where you live...
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Zielschmerz
dictionaryofobscuresorrows:
n. the exhilarating dread of finally pursuing a lifelong dream, which requires you to put your true abilities out there to be tested on the open savannah, no longer protected inside the terrarium of hopes and delusions that you created in kindergarten and kept sealed as long as you could, only to break in case of emergency.
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yourguttersoul:
Do you remember when we met in Gomorrah? When you were still beardless, and I would oil my hair in the lamp light before seeing you, when we were young, and blushed with youth like bruised fruit. Did we care then what our neighbors did in the dark? When our first daughter was born on the River Jordan, when our second cracked her pink head from my body like a promise, did we worry...
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jesuisperdu:
When to Quote Poetry or Moan Like a Moorhen
itwonlast:
By DWIGHT G. GARNER l NYTimes Jan.31, 2012
“Genitals,” Malcolm Bradbury, the British novelist and academic, wrote, “are a great distraction to scholarship.” They’ve been a distraction, too, to our understanding of the Kama Sutra, the classic study of society and sexuality written in India nearly 2,000 years ago.
The book...
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fluttering-slips:
Dependants
How good we are for each other, walking through a land of silence and darkness. You open doors for me, I answer the phone for you.
I play jungle loud. You read with the light on. Beautiful. The curve of your cheekbone, explosive vowels, exact use of cologne.
What are you thinking? I ask in a language of touch unique to us. You tap my palm nothing much. At stations we...
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“i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without...”
– e. e. cummings (via connectnothing)
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Birthday Stories - Giveaway!!!
harukimurakami:
Okay so as I don’t have much free time I’m keeping this simple.
Reblog this post as many times as you like.
This is open for one week until the 4th Feb 2012.
I will use a random online generator to choose a winner.
I will post anywhere in the world that my post office will deliver to.
I can’t be held responsible if the postal service lose it though.
I will not do anything...
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You Want a Physicist to Speak at Your Funeral
thereisafish:
You want a physicist to speak at your funeral. You want the physicist to talk to your grieving family about the conservation of energy, so they will understand that your energy has not died. You want the physicist to remind your sobbing mother about the first law of thermodynamics; that no energy gets created in the universe, and none is destroyed. You want your mother to know...
Birthday Stories - Giveaway!!!
harukimurakami:
Okay so as I don’t have much free time I’m keeping this simple.
Reblog this post as many times as you like.
This is open for one week until the 4th Feb 2012.
I will use a random online generator to choose a winner.
I will post anywhere in the world that my post office will deliver to.
I can’t be held responsible if the postal service lose it though.
I will not do anything...
January 2012
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fluttering-slips:
She Thinks of Him on Her Birthday
It’s still winter, and still I don’t know you anymore, and you don’t know me. But this morning I stand in the kitchen with the illusion, peeling a clementine. Each piece snaps like the nickname for a girl, the tinny bite it was to be one once. Again I count your daughters and find myself in the middle, the waist of the hourglass, ...