"How do you balance job and personal and sleep and woman and female and race and culture and politics and funny and not funny and men and boys and body image and weight and stuff? A lil vodka straight from the bottle!"
"The most intimate sign of affection you can show to someone is giving them your undivided attention. I think that’s incredibly rare."
- Me: So do you have a Tumblr?
- SF Person: Oh my god, I have an entire Tumblr dedicated to my stoned Haikus because a vegan broke my heart.
"We’re all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn’t. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing."
I really love the singer’s voice and they just released an EP after like a year of silence and it got me v excited for an LP.
I feel like every person in this gif combined. Like some sort of deformed mutant Captain Planet.
This made me LOL.
New favorite song, obviously.
So next time that you’re feeling down
Turn your frown into a crown
Put yourself in an evening gown
And I’ll roll around, rip it off, break you off
JetBlue Airways taking off
Couple of days where the sand is soft
Oh, aren’t you glad you took the weekend off?
The artist at @esnail_la followed my vision exactly. Behold her brilliant work! (at esNAIL)
Johnny, the kitchen sink has been clogged for days, some utensil probably fell down there.
And the Drano won’t work but smells dangerous, and the crusty dishes have piled up
waiting for the plumber I still haven’t called. This is the everyday we spoke of.
It’s winter again: the sky’s a deep, headstrong blue, and the sunlight pours through
the open living-room windows because the heat’s on too high in here and I can’t turn it off.
For weeks now, driving, or dropping a bag of groceries in the street, the bag breaking,
I’ve been thinking: This is what the living do. And yesterday, hurrying along those
wobbly bricks in the Cambridge sidewalk, spilling my coffee down my wrist and sleeve,
I thought it again, and again later, when buying a hairbrush: This is it.
Parking. Slamming the car door shut in the cold. What you called that yearning.
What you finally gave up. We want the spring to come and the winter to pass. We want
whoever to call or not call, a letter, a kiss—we want more and more and then more of it.
But there are moments, walking, when I catch a glimpse of myself in the window glass,
say, the window of the corner video store, and I’m gripped by a cherishing so deep
for my own blowing hair, chapped face, and unbuttoned coat that I’m speechless:
I am living. I remember you.
Marie Howe, “What the Living Do” (via oofpoetry)