May 2010
1 tag
here is something
Sometimes I don’t want to read poetry. I want to read my old books with pages already marked and words already underlines. I want to look at art in person. I want to be breathless and speechless and feel the room fall away.
I want to wake up in the morning or fall asleep at night reading to someone other than myself and maybe this could happen now. I want to feel like I’m drowning....
“The hero in this story was never born. If you never say never, you can’t...”
– Stephanie Goehring, “Epic”
“Yes, you can carry thousands of them in your pocket, but what will you have to...”
– The iPad Revolution | The New York Review of Books (via lee)
Plus you can’t write in the margins or underline or dog-ear on your e-reader.
1 tag
here is something
So last night I dreamt about you for the first time in ages. I hadn’t even been thinking about you. If anything it was your namesake. But it was you that had to appear and make me feel uncomfortable in my skin again.
And then I saw someone wearing a Don Caballero shirt or at least I made it into a Don Caballero shirt and of course it would be today so I could get hit by it all at once.
...
Has anyone read The Heart is a Lonely Hunter?
The only other person I know who’s read it is my mom and that was years ago and she doesn’t remember the details and I really want to talk about it with someone.
Even There, Lyn Lifshin
poetry365:
it was December
and yes finally
you wanted me
we ran down the
slick narrow road
houses leaned
together the colors
wine and brown
remember the cracked
snow our scarves
floating getting
there out of
breath our
hair melting
boots clicked under
the door there
were quilts on the
sloped ceiling
and the old
stove you smile
toward going to
heat up some
coffee. I kept...
1 tag
salt, Lucielle Clifton (for 5/14)
poetry365:
he is salt
to her,
a strange sweet
a peculiar money
precious and valuable
only to her tribe,
and she is salt
to him,
something that rubs raw
that leaves a tearful taste
but what he will
strain the ocean for and
what he needs.
I’m at work and just read this poems in my eternal search for quotes for our twitter and oh man. Oh man. I said “oof” aloud.
1 tag
here is something
Every part of my body is tired and sore. But I am mostly happy.
My poetic side and my anatomy-loving side are in love with a boy based entirely on one feature, a genetic defect, a problem. The rest of me likes him, too, and this could be good.
Things are still in-between but I am breathing.
1 tag
The Eel in the Cave, Robert Bly
poetry365:
Our veins are open to shadow, and our fingertips
Porous to murder. It’s only the inattention
Of the prosecutors that lets us go to lunch.
Reading my old letters I notice a secret will.
It’s as if another person had planned my life.
Even in the dark, someone is hitching the horses.
That doesn’t mean I have done things well.
I have found so many ways to disgrace
Myself, and...
this is why we're friends.
me: but I think it would be inappropriate to tell him that these two things are enough to make me in love with him, at least poetically
me: also:
me: tumblr_kzsuziIgVF1qzy0ygo1_500.jpg
me: FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU &/or yes!
her: haha
me: also: you can call me peely boobs non
her: peely boobs!
me: Im glad you can read through my typos
her: obvi
“It is what you read when you don’t have to that determines what you will be when...”
– Oscar Wilde (via kari-shma) (via quote-book) (via feelitinmyheart)
now it makes sense
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“I don’t feel pleasure. Or pain. My isolation subsides, replaced by his need. And...”
– Roseland, Rebecca Lenkiewicz
2 tags
here is something
I just finished watching a movie. In it the boy has these chances to have everything he wants with the girl he loves and each time he ruins it through his own choices.
Sometimes I will fantasize about being told “I love you” by whatever boy might be prevalent in my life at the time. Most of the time imaginary-me is taken aback, speechless and sorry because she cannot return his...
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“When I walked out the door they were sound asleep on the bed and I was ready for...”
– Guy New York: You’re From Portland
