watson. i'm holmes.
12 March 2014 @ 11:29 PM
1 month ago via jebiwonkenobi (originally policymic)
10 February 2014 @ 4:01 PM
"You happened to me.
You were as deep down as I’ve ever been.
You were inside me like my pulse."
— Marilyn Hacker, from the poem Nearly A Valediction   (via deermoon)

(Source: kitty-en-classe)

2 months ago via queencersei (originally kitty-en-classe)
10 February 2014 @ 8:01 AM
"Time does not bring relief; you all have lied…"
— Edna St. Vincent Millay, from “[Time Does Not Bring Relief]” (via proustitute)
2 months ago via oryxs (originally proustitute)
8 February 2014 @ 4:01 PM

Rainer Maria Rilke, Selected Poems of Rainer Maria Rilke


Rainer Maria Rilke, Selected Poems of Rainer Maria Rilke

2 months ago via silasbenjamins (originally aseaofquotes)
27 January 2014 @ 4:28 PM


Aubade in Which I Untangle Her Hair

Bring me fistfuls of your hair if you want to say
you’re sorry.

                I will send my curls one envelope at a time. Your mailbox
               will be full of stamps and maple-dark hair and apologies.

 Why did you do it?

                 It had nothing to do with you.

Why did you do it? 

                Need. Need. We put our sadness in each other’s mouths
                and complained of thirst.

Tell me the worst of it. Tell me the story of your bodies together.

                He dug a hole and I lay in it, and he did too.
                The ground beneath was wet, and I could hear
                Rain hit his back as the hole filled up with water.

 What did his body sound like?

                Dirt filled my ears.

 What did his body sound like?

                 Waves under a pier.

 How did you touch him?

                I covered his eyes and kissed his palms.

 What else?

                 I covered his eyes and kissed his throat.

 He loves that.

                 Yes. You told me before.

 What happened after that?

               He left. But before he left, he emptied his pockets. Before
                he left he knotted my hair with peonies and cherry stems
                and a cricket scratch its legs together, singing, singing.
                It kept me awake after he left. I cut it from my hair
                and buried it. A tree grew that creaked on still days.
                At night, it scraped against my window.

Are you sorry?

               After he left I planted milkweed thistle in the birdbath.
                After he left I carved “summer” into the tree, and above it,
                “summer” and below it, “summer”. And I made my axe
                kiss all three summers, and they became firewood.
                When I burned them, the stump outside began singing.
                So I burned the stump, and the roots, and below it,
                I found a nest of crickets. Males rubbed their striated legs
                Together and females opened the eardrum in the joints
                of their knees, listening. I set them on fire, and they kept
                singing. When the fire went out, I walked away. No.
                When the fire went out, I ate them.

Traci Brimhall
from Rookery, Southern Illinois University Press, 2010.

2 months ago via silasbenjamins (originally fluttering-slips)
15 January 2014 @ 9:20 PM
"Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence."
— The Little Prince (via psych-facts)
3 months ago via jebiwonkenobi (originally psych-facts)
18 December 2013 @ 8:15 PM

I am terribly small out here.

A shrinking dark spot in an endless

So enormous is my smallness
that it makes me grow.

Something like a
skillfully built cathedral,
with its overwhelming physical weight correctly divided,
can make people godlike.

When the smallness has almost obliterated me
and rubbed me out of the picture

I begin to live in the bog pines,

in the snow crystals,

in the celestial light,

in the mountain’s weight.

— Elisabeth Rynell, from Four Reductions (via violentwavesofemotion)
4 months ago via oryxs (originally violentwavesofemotion)
14 December 2013 @ 5:38 PM

Yehuda Amichai, “A Man in His Life”


Yehuda Amichai, “A Man in His Life”

4 months ago via aseaofquotes (originally aseaofquotes)
10 December 2013 @ 10:09 AM
"We grew up with the Internet and on the Internet. This is what makes us different; this is what makes the crucial, although surprising from your point of view, difference: we do not ‘surf’ and the internet to us is not a ‘place’ or ‘virtual space’. The Internet to us is not something external to reality but a part of it: an invisible yet constantly present layer intertwined with the physical environment. We do not use the Internet, we live on the Internet and along it. If we were to tell our bildungsroman to you, the analog, we could say there was a natural Internet aspect to every single experience that has shaped us. We made friends and enemies online, we prepared cribs for tests online, we planned parties and studying sessions online, we fell in love and broke up online. The Web to us is not a technology which we had to learn and which we managed to get a grip of. The Web is a process, happening continuously and continuously transforming before our eyes; with us and through us. Technologies appear and then dissolve in the peripheries, websites are built, they bloom and then pass away, but the Web continues, because we are the Web; we, communicating with one another in a way that comes naturally to us, more intense and more efficient than ever before in the history of mankind."
4 months ago via starlorrd (originally azspot)
9 December 2013 @ 4:57 PM
"i don’t know what brings broken people together
maybe damage seeks out damage
the way stains on a mattress halo into one another
the way stains on a mattress bleed into each other."
— Warsan Shire (via larmoyante)
4 months ago via oryxs (originally larmoyante)