May 2008
hollywood’s not america by ferras truestory
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If you forget me
I want you to know one thing. You know how this is: if I look at the crystal moon, at the red branch of the slow autumn at my window, if I touch near the fire the impalpable ash or the wrinkled body of the log, everything carries me to you, as if everything that exists, aromas, light, metals, were little boats that sail toward those isles of yours that wait for me. Well, now, if little by little...
paper planes by m.i.a. this song is like whoa....
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Variations on the Word Love
This is a word we use to plug holes with. It’s the right size for those warm blanks in speech, for those red heart- shaped vacancies on the page that look nothing like real hearts. Add lace and you can sell it. We insert it also in the one empty space on the printed form that comes with no instructions. There are whole magazines with not much in them but the word love, you can rub it all...
“There is much to hate in this world, and too much to love.”
– GMaguire (Mirror Mirror)
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“We give and take and go in the incredibly complicated sweetness zigzagging every...”
– JKerouac (On the Road)
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amor aeternus
Wealth and dominion fade into the mass Of the great sea of human right and wrong, When once from our possession they must pass: But love, though misdirected, is among The things which are immortal, and surpass All that frail stuff which will be—or which was.
(PBShelley)
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drunken tumblring
KW: i accidentally drunk dialed my boss and was like I LUVRRR YOU SERENA
lovebot: HAHAHAHAHA
KW: and this morning he was like
KW: wtf is a tumblr
KW: i think i said somethin about your tumblr to him
KW: hahahah
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“It ought to make us feel ashamed when we talk like we know what we’re...”
– Carver (What we talk about when we talk about love)
one day at a time - corey smith
“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly...”
– CS Lewis (via seriouslythough) (via robot-heart)
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“We all have such fated objects - it may be a recurrent landscape in one case, a...”
– Nabokov (Lolita)
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http://twistori.com/ →
courtesy of pie
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Asparagus by M.Atwood
This afternoon a man leans over the hard rolls and the curled butter, and he tells me everything: two women love him, he loves them, what should he do?
The sun sifts down through the imperceptibly brownish urban air. I’m going to suffer for this: turn red, get blisters or else cancer. I eat asparagus with my fingers, he plunges into deception. He’s at his wit’s end, sewed up in...
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“cuz in the end we’re all just little kids with scarred hearts from little...”
– tonedeff
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‘A final comfort that is small, but not cold: The heart is the only broken instrument that works.’ - T.E. Kalem
