Perhaps, as we say in America, I wanted to find myself. This is an interesting phrase, not current as far as I know in the language of any other people, which certainly does not mean what it says but betrays a nagging suspicion that something has been misplaced.

James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room

And just when B and S had built a bridge, it all had to come crashing down. But dry your eyes. The Kiss on the Lips party is just around the corner. And you know who loves parties? Gossip Girl.

image

image

(via fyeahgg)

(Source: marigoldsky)

smartgirlsattheparty:

Amy P. was recently on The Approval Matrix, and was asked about the difficulties the “modern man” face. 

Her response was perfect.

(gif via amypoehler, article via micdotcom)

(Source: amypoehler)

garconniere:

femmesandfamily:

yes ma’am

I’m back at work and sifting through hundreds of emails and really needed to see this today. 

garconniere:

femmesandfamily:

yes ma’am

I’m back at work and sifting through hundreds of emails and really needed to see this today. 

(Source: gingersugarbaker)

beingblog:

"When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe." ~John Muir

beingblog:

"When we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else in the Universe." ~John Muir

(Source: trentgilliss)

Winged and Acid Dark

A sentence with “dappled shadow” in it.
Something not sayable
spurting from the morning silence,
secret as a thrush.
The other man, the officer, who brought onions
and wine and sacks of flour,
the major with the swollen knee,
wanted intelligent conversation afterward.
Having no choice, she provided that, too.

Potsdamerplatz, May 1945.
When the first one was through he pried her mouth open.
Bashō told Rensetsu to avoid sensational materials.
If the horror of the world were the truth of the world,
he said, there would be no one to say it
and no one to say it to.
I think he recommended describing the slightly frenzied
swarming of insects near a waterfall.

Pried her mouth open and spit in it.
We pass these things on,
probably, because we are what we can imagine.
Something not sayable in the morning silence.
The mind hungering after likenesses. “Tender sky,” etc.,
curves the swallows trace in air.
-Robert Hass

As Arnold points out, there is an otherwise inexplicable shift in direction in the Piccadilly line passing east out of South Kensington. “In fact,” she writes, “the tunnel curves between Knightsbridge and South Kensington stations because it was impossible to drill through the mass of skeletal remains buried in Hyde Park.” I will admit that I think she means “between Knightsbridge and Hyde Park Corner”—although there is apparently a “small plague pit dating from around 1664” beneath Knightsbridge Green—but I will defer to Arnold’s research.

But to put that another way, the ground was so solidly packed with the interlocked skeletons of 17th-century victims of the Great Plague that the Tube’s 19th-century excavation teams couldn’t even hack their way through them all. The Tube thus had to swerve to the side along a subterranean detour in order to avoid this huge congested knot of skulls, ribs, legs, and arms tangled in the soil—an artificial geology made of people, caught in the throat of greater London.

What I’m Reading

What I’m Reading

(two posts in one day? 
Trying something new: a weekly round up of some of the things I’m reading. You’ll notice I’m not good at reading one thing at a time.)

Poetry

  • Matthea Harvey, Sad Little Breathing Machine
  • Anne Carson, Glass Irony and God

Prose

  • So I started Outlanderlast week, and while it’s a book easy to zip through, y’all… I just can’t do it, I think. Between the constant rape panic, the…

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