February 2012
31 posts
““For all its bravura, Mr. Fairfax’s seafaring almost pales beside his...”
– RIP John Fairfax.
(314):
CORAL IS FAR MORE RED THAN HER LIPS RED
(+04):
Oh god you're Sonnet 130 drunk, aren't you.
Cascando - Beckett.
1 why not merely the despaired of occasion of wordshed
is it not better abort than be barren
the hours after you are gone are so leaden they will always start dragging too soon the grapples clawing blindly the bed of want bringing up the bones the old loves sockets filled once with eyes like yours all always is it better too soon than never the black want splashing their faces saying...
Tongue turned cat-like in the course of the night, Rasping against the backs of wine-dark teeth, I am terrified of saying something wrong And getting kicked out of your garden,
Where the avocado tree in your window-sill And the grass at my feet fulfill the need of Blocking out all the concrete world around us.
There is a fear of betrayal, here; I was taught how gardens work. So I sit, in...
“If what’s always distinguished bad writing— flat characters, a narrative world...”
– David Foster Wallace (via kadrey)
“Learn to love a hangover. Nurture and adore it like sad music. This Cinderella...”
– DBC Pierre - Lights Out in Wonderland
Love, forgive me.
My sister told me a soul mate is not the person
who makes you the happiest but the one who makes you feel the most, who conducts your heart
to bang the loudest, who can drag you giggling with forgiveness from the cellar they locked you in. It has always been you. You are the first
person I was afraid to sleep next to, not because of the fear you would leave in the night but because I didn’t...
“When it comes, you’ll be dreaming
that you don’t need to breathe;
that...”
– Wislawa Szymborska, who died.
January 2012
44 posts
6am run in the woods. Half-moon floating above the dawn-shaded mountain like an ill-formed naval simile,
Things making noises, my lungs surprised at sucking in cool air,
My left thigh hurts and I have ‘The Jitterbug’ stuck in my head.
“To show ourselves ‘as we truly are’: a prospect we should spare anyone we claim...”
– Alain de Botton.
At 10h34am I am hung over as high hell and the girl across the table tells me that “they broke into our apartment last week,” and I am supposed to know who they are.
And I know who they are.
Though there is a light reprieve when I hear the Easter Oratorio coming out of the security guard’s booth at an old age home, the morning does not improve.
2 tags
A note on the word 'petrichor:'
The term was first coined in the 1960s, possibly by some Australian dudes who were writing a piece for Nature.
Petro - ‘relating to rocks,’ and ichor - 1) ‘the fluid which flows like blood in the veins of the gods’ or 2) ‘[archaic] a watery discharge from a wound.’
Rock-blood, then. Which doesn’t really make sense, but it’s a pretty word, so hey.
