i'm completely alone at a table of friends
i feel nothing for them, i feel nothing, nothing.
I love you to pieces, distraction, etc.– “Franny and Zoey,” J.D. Salinger
i am now a mod of...
fuckyeahpoetry! you should probably follow it. we put some good stuff in there.
i’m not saying that i’ve earned love, but i could really use it now;...– “catholic pagans,” surfer blood
alexher asked: The tumble blog fuck yeah poetry is looking for a new mod as one of the people who run it is going off to India for a year. Its on me to find someone and the only person that comes to mind is you, would you be in any way interested?
This Machine Kills Suzanne Highland It’s the slowest part of summer, humidity collecting like crude oil drowsily slumming on the surface of an otherwise pellucid lake. A kid on the run (though he doesn’t know yet) is clenching his quenched red eyelids and surrounded on all sides by blackened matches, like infinitesimal ladders leading upwards and nowhere. Art is arbitrary, he thinks, lighting...
but my heart's learned to kill, oh mine has...
there’s a reason why i feel so much better about my life when my room is clean - i like to keep the things i keep in corners and boxes, tucked away into their respective spaces, where i can perch on my bed, legs pulled up, and watch them writhe and burn away to nothing. that’s what i do. i kill what is good for me, i break what makes sense, i hold high above the heads of rationality...
I went to the woods because I wanted to live deliberately, I wanted to live deep...– Henry David Thoreau
the good times are killin' me.
It’s not Armageddon By: Cheryl Dumesnil spreading amber fog from north to south across September sky. And no, that’s not a metaphor for depression, or the slow death of love. Not even with its signature reference to the season of falling leaves. It’s just smoke from a brush fire two hundred miles away, staining sunlight the color of white sheets soaked in a rusty bin....
half the whole town gone for the summer, terrible silence coming down here, and...– “tallahassee,” the mountain goats
Everything is art because art is simply a way of making things.– Wendell Berry
“To say that you are cute would be like saying a strawberry is sweet, ‘Cause a strawberry has secret flavors that are sharp, and tart, and red, and deep. And I would love to find you growing wild out by the woods, I would make a basket with the front of my t-shirt, and take home as many of you as I could. And to say that you are pretty would be like saying that the ocean is blue ...
kimberlybegin: bohemea: THE DEAD WEATHER DUBBED OVER A PROMO FOR TRUEBLOOD SEASON 3 I JUST CAME EVERYWHERE Dead Weather aside, I just jizzed a little bit too. I only watch this show for teh sex.
last night, when the ropes were pulling you in
you said, hey, how could you love me this way?
We need never be hopeless, because we can never be irreparably broken. We think...– John Green
Do stuff. Be clenched, curious. Not waiting for inspiration’s shove or society’s...– Susan Sontag
“i am somewhere in the city, i am climbing up a fire escape i am going to save my baby from the mess this world has made i arrive through a window, i leave through a hole in the wall i scramble down the stairwell with my baby, cradle and all helicopter, let your long rope down let us sway into the sunset i have done all i can do in this town.” — “helicopter,” m. ward
all for freedom and for pleasure.– “everyone wants to rule,” tears for fears
jessieflux asked: i never do this, but i think you're one of the best writers i've come across in a long time. the last three stanzas of "the art of the collapsible" are fucking PERFECT. every time you post i find myself reading it and then rereading it and rereading it again. keep it up :]
every place mentioned in any Mountain Goats song. →
sadclown: unmentionables: apidae: (roomthily:morrowplanet) Holy crap.
so one last touch and then you’ll go, and we’ll pretend that it...– “tiny vessels,” death cab for cutie