Tumblr is so nice. I can be boring and useless here in peace
mood
(via moodsandmatters)
"I am a lover without a lover. i am lovely and lonely and i belong deeply to myself"
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I do believe in the power of sitting in your car just a little longer before heading inside, lying upside down on the couch, cloud gazing well into adulthood, taking the time to learn something new, humility, recollecting your dreams, pressing something warm against your belly, small talk w strangers, odes to romance, a lit candle on your countertop while you cook, having a sense of humor about life
(via moondance-ing)
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“When I think of my brother’s childhood friends, of the two who are dead, I become, in those seconds, not inconsolable but wanting for my parents. I am homesick. Parent-sick. Cousin-sick. Okra-sick… I am sick for those years when I was paying attention without purpose. When I was arranging stories free of import, and when my imagination could draw courage instead of warrant that I stay in… I am sick for using change to buy lime popsicles. Sick for slamming doors to emphasize my temper. I am sick for not perceiving winter. For being unbothered by February’s frost… I am sick for packing a snowball but being too shy to throw it and so I’d carry it in the gloved pillow of my palm like a pet snowball. I am sick for using small scissors to cut cardboard hearts; for gluing them on paper doilies and writing someone’s name with felt marker. I am sick for cardboard and paper and markers, and the time it took to make things before gifting them… I am sick for my incorruptibility. Sick for believing. Sick for my body before. Before I’d ever noticed I was in possession of one. Before full-lengths. Before I knew anything about valleyed collarbones, a stomach’s folds, smooth legs, small wrists… I am sick for wearing orange. For those years when I knew nothing about the need to abide. When I smiled with my teeth.”
— Durga Chew-Bose, from “Part of a Greater Pattern,” in Too Much and Not the Mood
(via youpossessrarebeauty)
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is this what growing up is? just leaving things behind, over and over?
(via monaxikos-skantzoxoiros)
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Simone de Beauvoir, from Diary of a Philosophy Student: Volume 1, 1926-1927; May 21st, 1927
Text ID: I have no other god but myself.
(via allloversbetray)
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you know it’s really bad when you don’t even want to listen to music
(via that-unremarkable-girl)
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i’ve decided to carry some undying hope with me every day. as a treat
(via that-unremarkable-girl)
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it truly is so strange that richard siken’s work in tumblr/queer circles is known for this sort of pure yet devoted gay love when the devotion is actually obsessive and the purity is nonexistent. i half wonder if half the people who claimed to be fans of his poetry have not actually read crush or war of the foxes, just seen the bits about being in a car with a beautiful boy, and wearing the boy’s jacket, or the inability to touch the stars. but have you actually read “you are jeff?” did you read all twenty four verses and the part about confusing the intimacy of a father, an uncle, a lover? did you read the part about a fraternal brawl on the side of the highway, the refusal to watch it from the inside of a car, the comparison of love to cancer? or did you take the entirety of crush to be a story about not being able to tell someone you love them? because yes, that’s important, but the violence of the entire poetry collection has somehow been lost to the internet. crush’s cover is a man wiping blood from his lips. the collection is about grief, love, obsession, violence, youth, self-destructiveness, mental health. it’s not just “gay yearning” and god if that implication hasn’t messed up so many people’s goddamn perception.
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the way i feel about the new richard siken poems is. okay look. people are always always saying what does this mean, what’s happening, why can’t you just say it? people do this to poetry in general but him in particular. who died? what happened? and these poems feel like him staring straight at the camera saying okay, i’ll tell you. come and fucking get it. is this what you wanted?
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