We will build new homes away from the sea.

Jun
7th

Tue

Four Small Things

Lily Hoang

Blue

Blue like what are your eyes? Blue like swollen oceans or blue like sullen lapis, blue like coronation marches or blue like bruised sadness, blue like nothing like mine, not a shade of same, makes for magnificence, that smallness of difference, comely and becoming—everything.

Pen

To you who will pen my life story: Do not forget the relentless reproduction of chores, always, even if this truth will only bore your readers.

Line

The line between infatuation and delusion is invisible to the eye, naked or dressed.

Plane

Desperation like mine is not plain but planed, a diagonal dangling in two dimensions.

(Source: readtwelvestories.com)

Have you forgotten what we were like then
when we were still first rate
and the day came fat with an apple in its mouth

it’s no use worrying about Time
but we did have a few tricks up our sleeves
and turned some sharp corners

the whole pasture looked like our meal
we didn’t need speedometers
we could manage cocktails out of ice and water

I wouldn’t want to be faster
or greener than now if you were with me O you
were the best of all my days

-frank o’hara

“The thing about me is that the closer I get to anything, the more convinced I become that I’m never going to get there.”

John

Recently, I’ve been doing everything I can to get to that place where there’s nothing in the world except me and it feels the way it feels to be drunk on an empty stomach after two nights without sleep.

Would you let me lay you down if I told you that some mornings, some nights, some afternoons, all I want, still, is for you to tell me to come home.

I’m in love. I’m in love. I’m in love. The only problem is I need the acute pain of heartbreak to be a person worth saving, to be a writer worth reading, to be (what was it you once said) all the me’s that claw from within, that stick their fingers through the slots between my ribs in the war for the (my) heart.

Someone said that all I have to do is pay my own electric bill and be kind. The other obligations are someone else’s. This is not the girl I meant to be, which must mean this is not the girl I’m meant to be.

petitpoulailler:

coffeymuse: GOTA ROSA (PINK DROP) DEDICADA A YARI! by SamyColor

May
18th

Wed

RUBBING

I once saw a painter smear black paint
on a bad blue sky,
then rub it in until that lie of hers

was gone. I’ve seen men polish cars
so hard they’ve given off light.
As a child I kept a stone in my pocket,

thumb and forefinger in collusion
with water and wind
caressing it day and night.

I’ve begun a few things with an eraser,
waited for friction’s spark.
I’ve learned that sometimes severe

can lead to truer, even true.
But few things human can stand
to be rubbed for long—I know this

and can’t stop. If beauty comes
it comes startled, hiding scars,
out of what barely can be endured.

— Stephen Dunn (via thesemightysecrets)

I sometimes used to ask myself, what on earth did I love her for? Maybe fore the warm hazel iris of her fluffy eyes, or for the natural side-wave of her brown hair, done anyhow, or again for that movement of her plump shoulders. But, probably the truth was that I loved her because she loved me. To her I was the ideal man: brains, pluck. And there was none dressed better. I remember once, when I first put on that new dinner jacket, with the vast trousers, she clapsed her hands, sank down on a chair and murmured: ‘Oh, Hermann….” It was ravishment bordering upon something like heavenly woe.

— Vladimir Nabokov (via clavicola) (via weatethebirds)

(via weatethebirds)

She had a voice that made Pearl Harbor seem like a lullaby

— Richard Brautigan (via ahuntersheart)

1) Favorite color, don’t judge

2) A guy I had one debauched night with spring break of senior year, just sent me a text that said ,”If you were a mango, I would suck you to the seed.” I wanted to be like, oh, ok, what if I were a grapefruit?

(Source: diam0nds-ar3nt-f0rever, via simplyyouinspiredme)

nevver:

Writer’s Block

There’s this thing that sits inside me, and then, suddenly, it’s gone, but never for long. When it returns I welcome it with open arms like an old friend. I will never stop being comfortable with the space between wherever i am, and wherever i am supposed to be.

(via libraryland)