And the wind shall say ‘Here were decent godless people;
G’night.
Think happy thoughts!
2012
I want to say goodbye to you now. After 22 years in your cold embrace, New York. 22 years of the sunset reflecting on the glass buildings, round 5. 22 years of falling in and out of love under arches, on subways, in parks. Gin flavored kisses and not knowing why I was on the B train. 22 years of walking up and down you at 4:30 AM, New York. You covered in daggers. You with rancid meat in your teeth. You, strewn with relics, with ex lovers, always with a million other people’s worlds existing around me. But we don’t notice because we live with you for too long. Heroin hamburgers and the glory of ambien. I always end up with blistering feet and broken nails thanks to you, but that’d probably be anywhere in the world. New York, your angels are inside me alright, but they’re trying to get out.
I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea!
We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee;
And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky,
Has awakened in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may not die.
A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew-dabbled, the lily and rose;
Ah, dream not of them, my beloved, the flame of the meteor that goes,
Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in the fall of the dew:
For I would we were changed to white birds on the wandering foam: I and you!
I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Danaan shore,
Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come near us no more;
Soon far from the rose and the lily, and fret of the flames would we be,
Were we only white birds, my beloved, buoyed out on the foam of the sea!
-W.B. Yeats
We stare at one another on tiny screens while this is out there. Think about that for a minute and then lemme know when you wanna head up north and stop only seeing things that aren’t endless. Endlessness is underrated.
Hysteria (1915)
“As she laughed I was aware of becoming involved
in her laughter and being part of it, until her
teeth were only accidental stars with a talent
for squad-drill. I was drawn in by short gasps,
inhaled at each momentary recovery, lost finally
in the dark caverns of her throat, bruised by
the ripple of unseen muscles. An elderly waiter
with trembling hands was hurriedly spreading
a pink and white checked cloth over the rusty
green iron table, saying: “If the lady and
gentleman wish to take their tea in the garden,
if the lady and gentleman wish to take their
tea in the garden …” I decided that if the
shaking of her breasts could be stopped, some of
the fragments of the afternoon might be collected,
and I concentrated my attention with careful
subtlety to this end.”
-T.S. Eliot
Family love is messy, clinging, and of an annoying and repetitive pattern, like bad wallpaper.”
— Friedrich Nietzsche
Random Neurosis
Sometimes when he talks to me I feel my innards change. Does that sound strange to you? Allow me to explain.
When he speaks to me my bones shoot splinters like electricity. My lungs feel hollow - branch-like sinuous tissue- almost dancing. Birds fly and jump from branch to branch. I feel them too. My stomach twitches, like the hands of a just-dead thing. And my teeth grind like mortar to pestle. My tongue feels reptilian, the little stick tongue of a snake. My eyes roll this way and that, a mad horse with a bad smell. My hair feels like it is falling out in clumps. There is fire in my blood, and I can only stare out with ghost eyes. My mouth is dry. My heart is beating. Boom boom boom. Right there, square between my eyes, levitating in midair.
“Hi,” he said. And all I could do was be this useless slipcover of organs and problems. And I can’t say hi to someone when I am just a mistrustful husk sitting on a couch. I am a poisonous thing. I am a beautiful thing. I am a thwack of feathers. I am emulsifying.
“Hi.” I said back. But then he wasn’t on facebook chat anymore.
-FIN-
(Source: vaacuum, via corinthian-girl)
