May 2012
2 posts
“Faith is not being sure. It is not being sure, but betting with your last cent…...”
– Mary Jean Irion. Yes, World: A Mosaic of Meditation. (via parkstepp)
May 29th
18 notes
1 tag
“Don’t be afraid. The future is not disguised        as sleep. It is a tango. It...”
– Traci Brimhall, from “Through a Glass Darkly” (via proustitute)
May 15th
231 notes
April 2012
10 posts
1 tag
Apr 26th
194 notes
“Words should wander and meander. They should fly like owls and flicker like bats...”
– My Name is Mina, David Almond (via wordsfromya)
Apr 26th
551 notes
3 tags
“Your voice, with clear location of June days, Called me outside the window. ...”
– Richard Wilbur, June Light.
Apr 18th
4 notes
3 tags
One. My deck of sages sits in their cardboard box, wedged between Shakespeare and crime thrillers and a stack of notepads, breathing in neglect and sheltering the dust motes fleeing the light. I sit and stare at this little ecosystem, looking for a keystone amongst the minutiae.  Two. Stories told. Books finish. Things happen and people change. And it’s not that I am afraid of being alone, it...
Apr 16th
4 notes
“Stories are our prayers, so write and edit and tell them with due reverence,...”
–  Jacqui Banaszynski, from Nieman Reports (via notquitelocal)
Apr 15th
14 notes
“my soul, you were in the ether with all the other scattershot suns”
– Paul Celan, from Glottal Stop, trans. Nikolai Popov and Heather McHugh (via proustitute)
Apr 14th
200 notes
3 tags
“In the end one simply withdraws From others and time, one’s own time,...”
– John Koethe, Fear of the Future.
Apr 11th
4 notes
2 tags
Water slices into the bay as a fish scale, separates the pebbles from the sand, and recedes. We stood beside driftwood bleached like unburied bones and I reached out my hand.  At a corner in the labyrinth a woman turned her face to me and asked carelessly, Where do I go if I’ve lost someone? For a moment I pause to savour the strangeness of her wording and then I point, wordlessly, upstairs to...
Apr 10th
10 notes
4 tags
ListenDan Sultan,”Dingo”, Get Out While You...
Apr 2nd
1 note
5 tags
“A rough sound was polished until it became a smoother sound, which was polished...”
– Mark Strand, The Everyday Enchantment of Music.
Apr 1st
3 notes
March 2012
5 posts
3 tags
“Does someone want to know the way to spring? He’ll remind you the flower...”
– Li-Young Lee, Black Petal.
Mar 19th
16 notes
2 tags
fluttering-slips: So Much Happiness - for Michael It is difficult to know what to do with so much happiness. With sadness there is something to rub against, a wound to tend with lotion and cloth. When the world falls in around you, you have pieces to pick up, something to hold in your hands, like ticket stubs or change. But happiness floats. It doesn’t need you to hold it down. It doesn’t need...
Mar 14th
12 notes
Mar 11th
3 notes
Mar 11th
19 notes
3 tags
“I am tired, Beloved, of chafing my heart against The want of you; Of...”
– Amy Lowell, The Letter.
Mar 11th
139 notes
February 2012
8 posts
3 tags
“What kind of sun expounds its rays upon the hills but then mutes like an...”
– Prageeta Sharma, Poem for Leigh Hunt.
Feb 25th
3 notes
3 tags
ListenJam Hsiao, “The One and Only You”...
Feb 20th
Feb 18th
503 notes
1 tag
Feb 6th
221 notes
1 tag
Feb 6th
27 notes
“I’ve decided that some of us, fearful that the world we know might not outlive...”
– Alice Walker, “Coming In from the Cold” (1984), from Living by the Word: Selected Writings 1973-1987. (via thecomfortofmybooks)
Feb 4th
7 notes
Feb 4th
153 notes
Feb 4th
65 notes
January 2012
14 posts
Jan 26th
900 notes
Jan 26th
21 notes
2 tags
Jan 26th
8 notes
natk: Life is what you think is waiting for you outside that front door, crying ‘use me’, but you can’t, not yet, not now, because you’re broke, you’re broken, you’re busy, you haven’t graduated, you can’t get the time from work, you can’t get the time at all. Life is not out that front door, waiting, it is in the room, it is the ache in your hand that you get when you write; it is the clothes...
Jan 26th
14 notes
3 tags
The heat is getting to me. It comes as a depletion of air, forcing films of water from my skin and it’s like breathing from the spout of a vacuum cleaner minus all the dust. I read of an English autumn, shuffling leaves and the smell of earth, sunshine slipping off bronzed foliage onto a road leading downhill. Cars weave by and it’s like a river minus all the water but still I am...
Jan 26th
4 notes
Jan 17th
578 notes
1 tag
Jan 17th
44 notes
1 tag
Jan 16th
9 notes
Jan 16th
341 notes
2 tags
“In the black hours when I lie sleepless, near drowning, dread-heavy, your face...”
– Kim Addonizio, Mermaid Song.
Jan 14th
16 notes
3 tags
“You need me like ice needs the mountain On which it breeds. Like print needs...”
– Monica Ferrell, Rime Riche.
Jan 14th
5 notes
2 tags
Jan 14th
29 notes
Jan 10th
260 notes
4 tags
Bones are grating against each other, all fifty-four of them, under the skin of my hands. It’s like a tango; except the tempo is all wrong. Once upon a time I used these hands to wring poison from my whining, dream-haunted brain; but now they lay useless. I’ve even stopped playing shadow puppets with them in the morning sun, because I’ve taken to waking before the sun rose. I...
Jan 10th
84 notes
December 2011
5 posts
3 tags
Dec 4th
148 notes
5 tags
It’s a laminated red card from the Alfred and its final sentence proclaims the holder of it to be radioactive until 2013. No sex without a condom and no holding babies, he tells me with a wink. I can still shake hands, though and he squeezes the back of my hand as though to prove it. His skin feels like paper softened from sweaty palms and repeated scrunching. Somehow I don’t doubt...
Dec 4th
19 notes
Dec 3rd
170 notes
Dec 3rd
360 notes
“I didn’t want any flowers, I only wanted To lie with my hands turned up and be...”
– Sylvia Plath (via stickyeyelids)
Dec 3rd
30 notes
November 2011
24 posts
Nov 28th
88 notes
elvedon: I am a catcher of stars by night, keeping dry bones from crying out in restlessness A throbbing ache, remedied with sage leaves, the tender nocturnes of Chopin, and a small book of wispy poems bought at a vendor’s market around the corner Printed words breathe, the writings of tinged wisteria under a lonely paper moon
Nov 20th
46 notes
1 tag
Nov 18th
15 notes
Nov 18th
3 tags
Nov 18th
43 notes
Nov 18th
242 notes