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I’ll never have you, but maybe that’s better because I’ve idealized you in Shakespearean proportions: the thoughts, the words, the poetry; everything’s there but it isn’t. The bleary-eyed reality of it: the deep sad reality of miles and schedules and all the impossible money and what is there to do, really? There’s an organic mass in my heart soaked through with blood but it’s just radio waves. It’s enough to make you tired, realizing the unreachable vastness of your purest emotions you get crushed get complacent and give it up in favor of something you can hold.

(via http://thoughtcatalog.com/2012/a-letter-to-my-long-distance-crush/)

24 minutes ago

from Projection

But I know that you know how your palms itch when you’re alone,
when the electricity goes off,
and the silence whirls in your stomach.
I know that you know how hard it is
to dress in white after wearing black,
to have your arms not merge into the day
but be signs by the road,
and to have nobody, Laurie, nobody travel
down your roads.

(Lidija Dimkovska)

2 days ago

1
Poetry is a weapon, and should be used,
though not in the crudity of violence.
It is a prayer before an unknown altar,
a spell to bless the silence.

2
There is a music beyond all this,
beyond all forms of grievance,
where anger lays its muzzle down
into the lap of silence.

3
Or some butterfly script,
fathomed only by the other,
as supple fingers draw
a silent message from the tangible.

–

Silences

by John Montague

3 days ago

Mummy said God is a man-made construct to stop people being ambitious.

– Melissa Nathan

3 days ago

My original strategy of waiting politely, being ignored, and then being passed over for someone else was a million times better.

4 days ago

1 week ago 8 notes View high resolution

There’s nothing I could say to make you try to feel ok, and nothing you could do to stop me feeling the way I do,

and if the chance should happen that I never see you again
just remember that I’ll always love you.

I’d be a better person on the other side I’m sure
You’d find a way to help yourself and find another door
To shrug off minor incidents and make us both feel proud
I just wish I could be there to see you through

You always were the one to make us stand out in a crowd
Though every once upon a while your head was in the cloud
There’s nothing you could never do to ever let me down
and remember that I’ll always love you.

(Source: Spotify)

1 week ago 1 note

Intimacy

How horrible it is, how horrible
that Cronenberg film where Goldblum’s trapped

with a fly inside his Material
Transformer: bits of the man emerging

gooey, many-eyed; bits of the fly
worrying that his agent’s screwed him–

I almost flinch to see the body later
that’s left its fly in the corner, I mean

the fly that’s left its body, recalling too
that medieval nightmare, Resurrection,

in which each soul must scurry
to rejoin the plush interiors of its flesh,

pushing through, marrying indiscriminately
because Heaven won’t take what’s only half:

one soul blurring forever
into another body.

If we can’t know the boundaries between ourselves
in life, what will they be in death,

corrupted steadily by maggot,
rain or superstition, by affection

that depends on memory to survive?
People should keep their hands to themselves

for the remainder of the flight: who needs
some stranger’s waistline, joint

problems or insecurities? Darling,
what I love in you I pray will always stay

the hell away from me.

(Paisley Rekdal)

2 weeks ago

gather

by Rose McLarney

Some springs, apples bloom too soon.
The trees have grown here for a hundred years, and are still quick
to trust that the frost has finished. Some springs,
pink petals turn black. Those summers, the orchards are empty
and quiet. No reason for the bees to come.

Other summers, red apples beat hearty in the trees, golden apples
glow in sheer skin. Their weight breaks branches,
the ground rolls with apples, and you fall in fruit.

You could say, I have been foolish. You could say, I have been fooled.
You could say, Some years, there are apples.

2 weeks ago

Sex is mathematics. Individuality no longer an issue.

(Lidija Dimkovska)

(Paisley Rekdal)

by Rose McLarney

from Projection

Intimacy

gather

from Projection

Intimacy

gather

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