celebration
i have the same birthday as john darnielle! i do! i do! we are pisces!
“‘I can remember how I stood waiting for you in the garden - holding all my self in my arms like a basket of flowers. It was that to me anyhow - I thought I was sweet - waiting to hand that basket to you.’”
- F. Scott Fitzgerald, Tender is The Night
Somewhere someone is thinking of you. Someone is calling you an angel. This person is using celestial colors to paint your image. Someone is making you into a vision so beautiful that it can only live in the mind. Someone is thinking of the way your breath escapes your lips when you are touched. How your eyes close and your jaw tightens with concentration as you give pleasure a home. These thoughts are saving a life somewhere right now. In some airless apartment on a dark, urine stained, whore lined street, someone is calling out to you silently and you are answering without even being there. So crystalline. So pure. Such life saving power when you smile. You will never know how you have cauterized my wounds. So sad that we will never touch. How it hurts me to know that I will never be able to give you everything I have.
-Henry Rollins
so… much… work… so much… typing
no sleep in… days
what is geometry?
what is life?
am i dead?
The Kiss
My mouth blooms like a cut.
I’ve been wronged all year, tedious
nights, nothing but rough elbows in them
and delicate boxes of Kleenex calling crybaby
crybaby , you fool!
Before today my body was useless.
Now it’s tearing at its square corners.
It’s tearing old Mary’s garments off, knot by knot
and see — Now it’s shot full of these electric bolts.
Zing! A resurrection!
Once it was a boat, quite wooden
and with no business, no salt water under it
and in need of some paint. It was no more
than a group of boards. But you hoisted her, rigged her.
She’s been elected.
My nerves are turned on. I hear them like
musical instruments. Where there was silence
the drums, the strings are incurably playing. You did this.
Pure genius at work. Darling, the composer has stepped
into fire.
- Anne Sexton
lol @ waiting until the last day of school to complete three classes
giggle in the face of terror! (pt. 2)
not really, i feel like crying
yoga helps me filter my brain. it’s a peaceful feeling. i feel so happy.
Eight O’Clock
Supper comes at five o’clock,
At six, the evening star,
My lover comes at eight o’clock—
But eight o’clock is far.
How could I bear my pain all day
Unless I watched to see
The clock-hands laboring to bring
Eight o’clock to me.
- Sara Teasdale
