Margaret Ely Webb.
I have too much energy to write an art history paper.
"Shall my end be a crown?
Now that the storm of life I’ve tackled,
I’m an equal candidate
for the throne of the universe
and the convict’s shackles.
If I’m destined to become a tsar here,—
my men will be told
to imprint your darling face,
onto the nation’s gold.
but, if I end up there,
where the tundra swallows the plains,—
where the North Wind with the river bargains,—
I will scratch Lily’s name all over the chains
and kiss them, laboring in the darkness.
Listen you, who forgot the color of the sky above,
like animals, wallowing in the slush!
in this world, this is perhaps,
the final love
revealing itself in the consumptive’s flush."
Vladimir Mayakovsky, Backbone Flute, 1915 (via adidassler)
I had horrible dreams last night
and it ended with me getting mugged and the guy taking my purse but my purse was full of Philip Roth books and I was kinda like, joke’s on you motherfucker.
Coachella more like coachultural appropriation am I riiight?
A hummingbird flies into a window
that looks like the sky. Everything around here
looks like the sky. The sky looks tiger striped.
They call that kind of cloud
something. I know somebody
who knows about clouds. I could find
out the name. Everything around here
has a name.
The hummingbird fell to the deck. My husband picked it up.
—What did it feel like in your hand?
—Nothing. It felt like nothing.
—Where is it now?
—Not dead. It flew away. It disappeared and it disappeared again.
I’ll tell you a joke. A hummingbird flew into a window…
I’ll tell you another joke. Treachery,
we were friends once.
In dreams the bird
weighs more, so you can feel it
when you pick it up. So when
it dies it seems
like something actually happened.
It’s a word
around your hand and a sign
at the stripped road.
A mylar star on a plastic stick
tied to the sign.
Blacktop. Post. A fat star’s
taut. It’s stuffed.
to be a party around here somewhere.
The bird weighs nothing waits nowhere.
The sky looks like a window and it flies right through."
Tigers by Melissa Ginsburg
for Erik Lemke (1979-2012)
I yelled “suck it nerds!” and Jen heard me and laughed and that was pretty great.
Holiday in Arnel - dress by Junior Sophisticates designed by Anne Klein 1960
Having people you didn’t know haunt your dreams is very upsetting.