An Open Letter To Bikini Season
How many bikini season posts have I seen on the internet so far this Spring? How many sopping guides; rules to determine which fruit I resemble the most? How many lists are there of swimsuits and sundresses that are “appropriate” for my body type? How much time have I spent in front of the mirror, scrutinizing the soft hills and jagged edges of my own body, pulling and tucking and arranging and...
juanincognito: You can wear a shirt with a picture of the devil on it, and meet someone with an advertisement for their church on it. If you smile at them, they will most likely smile back at you, because most humans are smart enough to know which gesture is more important.
The Hebrew word, the word ‘timshel’—‘Thou mayest’— that gives a choice. It might...– John Steinbeck (via likeafieldmouse)
From Swinburne's The Garden of Proserpine
We are not sure of sorrow, And joy was never sure; To-day will die to-morrow; Time stoops to no man’s lure; And love, grown faint and fretful, With lips but half regretful Sighs, and with eyes forgetful Weeps that no loves endure. From too much love of living, From hope and fear set free, We thank with brief thanksgiving Whatever gods may...
ween: as best as I can remember
It was the end of August, I was 17, and my friend’s little sister had just died. She’d been the third person I knew to get meningitis that summer. One had recovered, one had emerged from a coma with significant brain damage, but my friend’s baby sister had not survived. Two days after she died, we found out what had happened. She’d been bitten by a tick while camping, and...
carpe whatever: please, please, please →
mmesurly: We told Ruby what happened last night after dinner, because we didn’t want her to hear about it from a classmate or someone on the bus first. She is six-and-a-half years old, and in all that time I have never had to do anything so difficult. We tried to be as vague as possible, but she is so… I wrote this after Newtown. Last night I was so frustrated and scared and sad. I got on my...
an overly personal post about trying not to be too...
or, jeez I can’t even do THAT right I had a mommyblog. It started the way everyone else’s did: One day, I found myself with a baby. We would lie on the floor and stare at each other. She was beautiful. The grandparents would call, ask for all the tiniest details. I would take hundreds of pictures of this tiny, bizarre, beautiful creature I had made. I would update facebook twenty times a...
I feel like a wet seed wild in the hot blind earth.– William Faulkner, As I Lay Dying (via likeafieldmouse)
the sun on our shoulders
the sun on our shoulders the wind in our hair the clean, cool air in our lungs the despair we felt, together at the evidence the hunters had left behind you stopped once, looking down, smiling describing the relief you felt every time we encountered a deer’s hoof-print preserved in the mud I nodded: slowly, cautiously choosing not to remark aloud that for every small hoof-print the heavy...
A&P by John Updike →
It’s been an Updike kinda month.
An afternoon with my baby brother.
him: I want a wemon
me: [shows tongue against back of top teeth] like this: llllll la la
him: [imitating me] LLLL LA LA
me: ok, now, la-la-lemon
him: [frowning] la-la-llwemon
persephone92 asked: What tattoo to you have on your ribcage?
The hyper-reality of some moments. Maybe it’s the hallway light—which isn’t usually on—shining down on him standing there with his baby doll dangling from his two clasped hands. Maybe I’m not used to seeing him at this time so illuminated: two hours after bedtime, the cuffs of his too-short, worn-thin, Mario Bros. pajama bottoms hanging at least two inches above those...