6:00 pm - 11/02/2012
You only have ONE MORE DAY to submit your costume for the costume contest!!
And don't forget to enter the GISHWHES drawing!
I hope everyone had a great holiday! And I hope everyone on the east coast is safe ~<3
AND BE SURE TO VOTE ON TUESDAY IF YOU ARE AN AMERICAN!!
~Rules: No porn, spamming, advertising, dickishness. You know.
(p.s. I quite like podcasts. I recommend Comedy Bang Bang, The Pod F. Tompkast, improv4humans and Doug Loves Movies. Tell me more that are amazing like those)
FFAF: November 2, 2012
You only have ONE MORE DAY to submit your costume for the costume contest!!
And don't forget to enter the GISHWHES drawing!
I hope everyone had a great holiday! And I hope everyone on the east coast is safe ~<3
AND BE SURE TO VOTE ON TUESDAY IF YOU ARE AN AMERICAN!!
~Rules: No porn, spamming, advertising, dickishness. You know.
(p.s. I quite like podcasts. I recommend Comedy Bang Bang, The Pod F. Tompkast, improv4humans and Doug Loves Movies. Tell me more that are amazing like those)
It's pretty simple. You go to this page: http://cluster.gishwhes2012.com/ple
You enter your first name, city, and country... then you enter your e-mail address... then you enter MY e-mail address where it says 'Email Address of the person who referred you (if any):' ... the address for that is "bluemageceles@yahoo.com"
then you sbumit! It's that easy. Please help a girl out.
Edited at 2012-11-02 11:01 pm (UTC)
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I'm a bitch, underemployed, awesome and .... I follow back!
GOT, LOTR, AHS, TWD. and gifs!
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Indie, etc. music blog
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Dash is getting boring - follow and I'll definitely check your blog out :)
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sims
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Edited at 2012-11-02 11:10 pm (UTC)
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My dash is dead right now so I'll def follow back :)
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Edited at 2012-11-02 11:18 pm (UTC)
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Bands, funny stuff, movies, and other stuff
I follow back yall
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Edited at 2012-11-03 12:46 am (UTC)
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haven't been on tumblr a year yet... still needs lots of people to follow :)
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you'll regret it, I'm sure... but I follow back lol
I'm locked (so I can tweet shit about work and the people I work with) but I allow everyone who requests.
I follow back :)
I abandoned twitter for a long time, and only recently have I been using it with any regularity.
I will follow back!
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following you
I teared up a few times.
& stay for the end credits. :3
/csb
but I do hope you get to convince your mom though! it's so cute.
Btw can I just ask how Ken and Ryu were in the film ?
^_^
god it's so creepy i want to go see it in person but i'm not that much of an asshole i guess
the casino pier in seaside heights nj
or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,
in secret, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that never blooms
but carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;
thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,
risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.
I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;
so I love you because I know no other way
than this: where I does not exist, nor you,
so close that your hand on my chest is my hand,
so close that your eyes close as I fall asleep.
pablo neruda
Edited at 2012-11-02 11:10 pm (UTC)
correctly yet to me
a piercing comfort it affords
in passing calvary
to note the fashions of the cross
of those who stand alone
still fascinated to presume
that some are like - my own
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
Whoso list to hunt, I know where is an hind,
But as for me, helas! I may no more.
The vain travail hath worried me so sore,
I am of them that furthest come behind.
Yet may I by no means, my worried mind
Draw from the deer; but as she fleeth afore
Fainting I follow. I leave off therefore,
Since in a net I seek to hold the wind.
Who list her hunt, I put him out of doubt,
As well as I, may spend his time in vain;
And graven in diamonds in letters plain
There is written, her fair neck round about,
"Noli me tangere, for Caesar's I am,
And wild to hold, though I seem tame."
Sir Thomas Wyatt
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another's throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don't have any kids yourself.
When, turning from all else that was not his,
He took himself to that which was his own
— He took him to his verse — for other all he had not,
And (tho’ man will crave and seek)
Another all than this he did not need
So, pen in hand he tried to tell the whole tale of his woe
In rhyming; lodge the full weight of his grief in versing: and so did:
Then — when his poem had been conned and cared,
And all put in that should not be left out — did he not find and with astonishment,
That grief had been translated, or was come
Other and better than it first looked to be:
And that this happened, because all things transfer
From what they seem to what they truly are
When they are innocently brooded on
— And, so, The poet makes grief beautiful.
“Behold me now, with my back to the wall,
Playing music to empty pockets!”
So, Raferty, tuning a blind mans plight,
Could sing the cark of misery away:
And know, in blindness and in poverty,
That woe was not of him, nor kind to him.
And Egan Rahilly begins a verse —
“My heart is broken, and my mind is sad …”
‘Twas surely true when he began his song,
And was less true when he had finished it:
— Be sure, his heart was buoyant, and his grief
Drummed and trumpeted as grief was sung!
For, as he meditated misery
And cared it into song — Strict Care, Strict Joy!
Caring for grief he cared his grief away:
And those sad songs, tho’ woe be all the theme,
Do not make us grieve who read them now —
Because the poet makes grief beautiful.
And I, myself, conning a lonely heart
— Full lonely ’twas, and ’tis as lonely now
Turned me, by proper, to my natural,
And, now too long her vagrant, wooed my muse:
Then to her — let us look more close to these,
And, seeing, know; and, knowing, be at ease.
Seeing the sky o’ercast, and that the rain had
Plashed the window, and would plash again:
Seeing the summer lost, and the winter nigh:
Seeing inapt, and sad, and fallen from good:
Seeing how will was weak, and wish o’erbearing:
Seeing inconstant, seeing timidity:
Seeing too small, too poor in this and yon:
Seeing life, daily, grow more difficult:
Seeing all that moves away — moving away
… And that all seeing is a blind-mans treat,
And that all getting is a beggars dole,
And that all having is bankruptcy …
All these, sad all! I told to my good friend,
Told Raferty, O’Brien, Rahilly,
Told rain, and frosted blossom, and the summer gone,
Told poets dead, and captains dead, and kings!
— And we cared naught that these were mournful things,
For, caring them, we made them beautiful." -- "Strict Joy" by James Stephens
The tongues of hell
Are dull, dull as the triple
Tongues of dull, fat Cerebus
Who wheezes at the gate. Incapable
Of licking clean
The aguey tendon, the sin, the sin.
The tinder cries.
The indelible smell
Of a snuffed candle!
Love, love, the low smokes roll
From me like Isadora's scarves, I'm in a fright
One scarf will catch and anchor in the wheel.
Such yellow sullen smokes
Make their own element. They will not rise,
But trundle round the globe
Choking the aged and the meek,
The weak
Hothouse baby in its crib,
The ghastly orchid
Hanging its hanging garden in the air,
Devilish leopard!
Radiation turned it white
And killed it in an hour.
Greasing the bodies of adulterers
Like Hiroshima ash and eating in.
The sin. The sin.
Darling, all night
I have been flickering, off, on, off, on.
The sheets grow heavy as a lecher's kiss.
Three days. Three nights.
Lemon water, chicken
Water, water make me retch.
I am too pure for you or anyone.
Your body
Hurts me as the world hurts God. I am a lantern ---
My head a moon
Of Japanese paper, my gold beaten skin
Infinitely delicate and infinitely expensive.
Does not my heat astound you. And my light.
All by myself I am a huge camellia
Glowing and coming and going, flush on flush.
I think I am going up,
I think I may rise ---
The beads of hot metal fly, and I, love, I
Am a pure acetylene
Virgin
Attended by roses,
By kisses, by cherubim,
By whatever these pink things mean.
Not you, nor him.
Not him, nor him
(My selves dissolving, old whore petticoats) ---
To Paradise.
It's All the Same to the Clam - Shel Silverstein
You may leave the clam on the ocean's floor,
It's all the same to the clam.
For a hundred thousand years or more,
It's all the same to the clam.
You may bury him deep in mud and muck
Or carry him 'round to bring you luck,
Or use him for a hockey puck,
It's all the same to the clam.
You may call him Jim or Frank or Nell,
It's all the same to the clam.
Or make an ashtray from his shell,
It's all the same to the clam.
You may take him riding on the train
Or leave him sitting in the rain.
You'll never hear the clam complain,
It's all the same to the clam.
Yes, the world may stop or the world may spin,
It's all the same to the clam.
And the sky may come a'fallin' in,
It's all the same to the clam.
And man may sing his endless songs
Of wronging rights and righting wrongs.
The clam just sets -- and gets along,
It's all the same to the clam.
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is a light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you." -- Charles Bukowski, "The Laughing Heart"
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had
And add some extra, just for you.
But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern
And half at one another’s throats.
Man hands on misery to man.
It deepens like a coastal shelf.
Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.
Philip Larkin
morning, how you stumbled out
of bed when you first woke up,
and how your eyes groaned with
exhaustion.
The way your hands grasped my
hipbones while your lips stole
the ending of my sentences.
Everyday with you felt like a
month of Sunday mornings with
white bed sheets and lazy smiles.
That same morning, I fell in
love with the coffee shop down
the street, and the way you
asked for two sugars, but you
actually meant three.
The walk home from your house
made me remember what Monday
mornings feel like.
Somewhere in between falling
in love with our midnight
conversations that were
exhaled through cigarette
breaths and interrupted by
coffee stains,
and reading the love notes you
had written on my flesh,
I realized,
I am in love with the presence
of your words
and the feel of your
existence.
But I am not in love with you.
(AD.)
Does it dry up
like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?
A Band of Owls Moved Into Town
A band of owls moved into town,
shopped for groceries, ran for office,
that sort of thing. It began casually,
some of them gathered on Sundays
at Sophia’s to get their hair done and
then it was the bookstore on the corner.
Everyone simply put up with the owls
because businesses were booming
and the schoolchildren’s test scores
had suddenly taken a turn for the better.
More and more owls, and some people too,
made the move into town and the room
for accommodations began to diminish.
Needless to say, there was much
construction. The town quickly became
a city. It developed a night life and the
constant yellowish buzz of electricity.
One night at the Electric Mole, I met Julia,
the daughter of new and prosperous
socialites in town. She was incredible—
the most amazing eyes. We would stay
awake through most nights holding each
other beneath the moonlit window. We
talked about everything there, but mostly
about our disdain for the construction
and the flood of immigrant owls. I would
tell her, “We seem to be the only two who
are concerned, who notice. The only two
who want out…”
“…Who want a simpler life,”
she would say. “The only two who…who…”
It rained a lot that spring. You woke in the morning
And saw the sky still clouded, the streets still wet,
But nobody noticed so much, except the taxis
And the people who parade. You don’t, in a city.
The parks got very green. All the trees were green
Far into July and August, heavy with leaf,
Heavy with leaf and the long roots boring and spreading,
But nobody noticed that but the city gardeners
And they don’t talk.
Oh, on Sundays, perhaps you’d notice:
Walking through certain blocks, by the shut, proud houses
With the windows boarded, the people gone away,
You’d suddenly see the queerest small shoots of green
Poking through cracks and crevices in the stone
And a bird-sown flower, red on a balcony,
But then you made jokes about grass growing in the streets
And gags and a musical show called ”Hot and Wet.”
It made a good box for the papers. When the flamingo
Flew into a meeting of the Board of Estimate,
The new mayor acted at once and called the photographers.
When the first green creeper crawled upon Brooklyn Bridge,
They thought it was ornamental. They let it stay.
That was the year the termites came to New York
And they don’t do well in cold climates– but listen, Joe,
They’re only ants, and ants are nothing but insects.
It was funny and yet rather wistful, in a way
(As Heywood Broun pointed out in the World-Telegram)
To think of them looking for wood in a steel city.
It made you feel about life. It was too divine.
There were funny pictures by all the smart, funny artists
And Macy’s ran a terribly clever ad:
“The Widow’s Termite” or something.
There was no
Disturbance. Even the Communists didn’t protest
And say they were Morgan hirelings. It was too hot,
Too hot to protest, too hot to get excited,
An even African heat, lush, fertile and steamy,
That soaked into bone and mind and never once broke.
The warm rain fell in fierce showers and ceased and fell.
Pretty soon you got used to its always being that way.
You got used to the changed rhythm, the altered beat,
To people walking slower, to the whole bright
Fierce pulse of the city slowing, to men in shorts,
To the new sun-helmets from Best’s and the cop’s white uniforms,
And the long noon-rest in the offices, everywhere.
It wasn’t a plan or anything. It just happened.
The fingers tapped slower, the office-boys
Dozed on their benches, the bookkeeper yawned at his desk.
The A.T.&T. was the first to change the shifts
And establish an official siesta-room;
But they were always efficient. Mostly it just
Happened like sleep itself, like a tropic sleep,
Till even the Thirties were deserted at noon
Except for a few tourists and one damp cop.
They ran boats to see the big lilies on the North River
But it was only the tourists who really noticed
The flocks of rose-and-green parrots and parakeets
Nesting in the stone crannies of the Cathedral.
The rest of us had forgotten when they first came.
There wasn’t any real change, it was just a heat spell,
A rain spell, a funny summer, a weather-man’s joke,
In spite of the geraniums three feet high
In the tin-can gardens of Hester and Desbrosses.
New York was New York. It couldn’t turn inside out.
When they got the news from Woods Hole about the Gulf Stream,
The Times ran a adequate story.
But nobody reads those stories but science-cranks.
Until, one day, a somnolent city-editor
Gave a new cub the termite yarn to break his teeth on.
The cub was just down from Vermont, so he took his time.
He was serious about it. He went around.
He read all about termites in the Public Library
And it made him sore when they fired him.
So, one evening,
Talking with an old watchman, beside the first
Raw girders of the new Planetopolis Building
(Ten thousand brine-cooled offices, each with shower)
He saw a dark line creeping across the rubble
And turned a flashlight on it.
“Say, buddy,” he said,
“You’d better look out for those ants. They eat wood, you know,
They’ll have your shack down in no time.”
The watchman spat.
“Oh, they’ve quit eating wood,” he said, in a casual voice,
“I thought everybody knew that.”
–And, reaching down,
He pried from the insect jaws the bright crumb of steel.
-Stephen Vincent Benét
Haces tus cosas diariamente y piensas
y yo pienso y recuerdo y estoy solo.
A la misma hora nos recordamos algo
y nos sufrimos. Como una droga mía y tuya
somos, y una locura celular nos recorre
y una sangre rebelde y sin cansancio.
Se me va a hacer llagas este cuerpo solo,
se me caerá la carne trozo a trozo.
Esto es lejía y muerte.
El corrosivo estar, el malestar
muriendo es nuestra muerte.
Ya no sé dónde estás. Yo ya he olvidado
quién eres, dónde estás, cómo te llamas.
Yo soy sólo una parte, sólo un brazo,
una mitad apenas, sólo un brazo.
Te recuerdo en mi boca y en mis manos.
Con mi lengua y mis ojos y mis manos
te sé, sabes a amor, a dulce amor, a carne,
a siembra , a flor, hueles a amor, a ti,
hueles a sal, sabes a sal, amor y a mí.
En mis labios te sé, te reconozco,
y giras y eres y miras incansable
y toda tú me suenas
dentro del corazón como mi sangre.
Te digo que estoy solo y que me faltas.
Nos faltamos, amor, y nos morimos
y nada haremos ya sino morirnos.
Esto lo sé, amor, esto sabemos.
Hoy y mañana, así, y cuando estemos
en nuestros brazos simples y cansados,
me faltarás, amor, nos faltaremos.”
— Jaime Sabines
Shakespeare's Sonnet 116
Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
This Is Just To Say
I have eaten
the plums
that were in
the icebox
and which
you were probably
saving
for breakfast
Forgive me
they were delicious
so sweet
and so cold
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old-
This knight so bold-
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow-
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be-
This land of Eldorado?"
"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied-
"If you seek for Eldorado!"
edgar allan poe
by Dorothy Parker
Razors pain you;
Rivers are damp;
Acids stain you;
And drugs cause cramp.
Guns aren't lawful;
Nooses give;
Gas smells awful;
You might as well live.
by Robert Frost
Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
/csb
by Lewis Carroll
'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
"Beware the Jabberwock, my son
The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!
Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun
The frumious Bandersnatch!"
He took his vorpal sword in hand;
Long time the manxome foe he sought -
So rested he by the Tumtum tree,
And stood awhile in thought.
And, as in uffish thought he stood,
The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,
Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,
And burbled as it came!
One, two! One, two! And through and through
The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!
He left it dead, and with its head
He went galumphing back.
"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?"
Come to my arms, my beamish boy!
O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!
He chortled in his joy.
'Twas brillig, adn the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;
All mimsy were the borogoves,
And the mome raths outgrabe.
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys!---An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime...
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,---
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie: Dulce et decorum est
Pro patria mori.
"I Am in Need of Music" by Elizabeth Bishop
I am in need of music that would flow
Over my fretful, feeling fingertips,
Over my bitter-tainted, trembling lips,
With melody, deep, clear, and liquid-slow.
Oh, for the healing swaying, old and low,
Of some song sung to rest the tired dead,
A song to fall like water on my head,
And over quivering limbs, dream flushed to glow!
There is a magic made by melody:
A spell of rest, and quiet breath, and cool
Heart, that sinks through fading colors deep
To the subaqueous stillness of the sea,
And floats forever in a moon-green pool,
Held in the arms of rhythm and of sleep.
but also: ee cummings' "your little voice," most Keats poems, Shakespeare's sonnet 130, Elizabeth Bishop's "Florida" and most Pablo Neruda poems. I also love "The Lady of Shalott" by Tennyson but that's too long to post here, I think! Ooh also Emily Dickenson's "I'm Nobody! Who Are You?"
Also also: "The Cremation of Sam McGee" by Robert W. Service because my grandfather had the whole thing memorized and used to recite it sometimes at family events. Idk why he loved it so much, but I have it memorized now too because of him lol.
There are strange things done in the midnight sun
By the men who moil for gold;
The Arctic trails have their secret tales
That would make your blood run cold;
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights,
But the queerest they ever did see
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge
I cremated Sam McGee...
I'm not a huge poetry person but I loooove certain ones quite a bit. I should delve deeper into it.
Edited at 2012-11-02 11:53 pm (UTC)
And whisper to their souls to go,
Whilst some of their sad friends do say,
"Now his breath goes," and some say, "No."
So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move ;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.
Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears ;
Men reckon what it did, and meant ;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.
Dull sublunary lovers' love
—Whose soul is sense—cannot admit
Of absence, 'cause it doth remove
The thing which elemented it.
But we by a love so much refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assurèd of the mind,
Care less, eyes, lips and hands to miss.
Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to aery thinness beat.
If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two ;
Thy soul, the fix'd foot, makes no show
To move, but doth, if th' other do.
And though it in the centre sit,
Yet, when the other far doth roam,
It leans, and hearkens after it,
And grows erect, as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
Like th' other foot, obliquely run ;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.
by Anne Sexton
I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.
I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.
I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.
Because I could not stop for Death
by Emily Dickinson
Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.
We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –
We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –
Or rather – He passed us –
The Dews drew quivering and chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –
We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –
Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity –
The Embankment
(The fantasia of a fallen gentleman on a cold, bitter night.)
By T. E. Hulme
Once, in finesse of fiddles found I ecstasy,
In the flash of gold heels on the hard pavement.
Now see I
That warmth’s the very stuff of poesy.
Oh, God, make small
The old star-eaten blanket of the sky,
That I may fold it round me and in comfort lie.
and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.
Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.
I see a beautiful gigantic swimmer swimming naked
through the eddies of the sea,
His brown hair lies close and even to his head, he
strikes out with courageous arms, he urges himself
with his legs,
I see his white body, I see his undaunted eyes,
I hate the swift-running eddies that would dash him
head-foremost on the rocks.
What are you doing you ruffianly red-trickled waves ?
Will you kill the courageous giant? will you kill him
in the prime of his middle age?
Steady and long he struggles,
He is baffled, bang'd, bruis'd, he holds out while his
strength holds out,
The slapping eddies are spotted with his blood, they
bear him away, they roll him, swing him, turn him,
His beautiful body is borne in the circling eddies, it
is continually bruis'd on rocks,
Swiftly and out of sight is borne the brave corpse.
Edited at 2012-11-02 11:55 pm (UTC)
Love and Other Catastrophes: A Mix Tape
by Amanda Holzer
All By Myself, Eric Carmen. Looking For Love, Lou Reed. I Wanna Dance with Somebody, Whitney Houston. Let's Dance, David Bowie. Let's Kiss, Beat Happening. Let's talk About Sex, Salt n Pepa. Like A Virgin, Madonna. We've Only Just Begun, The Carpenters. I Wanna Be Your Boyfriend, The Ramones. I'll Tumble 4 Ya, Culture Club. Head Over Heels, The Go-Go's. Nothing Compares To You, Sinead O'Connor. My Girl,The Temptations. Could This Be Love?, Bob Marley. Love and Marriage, Frank Sinatra. White Wedding, Billy Idol. Stuck in the Middle with You, Steelers Wheel. Tempted, The Squeeze. There Goes My Baby, The Drifters. What's Going On? Marvin Gaye. Where Did You Sleep Last Night? Leadbelly. Who's Bed Have Your Boots Been Under? Shania Twain. Jealous Guy, John Lennon. Your Cheatin Heart, Tammy Wynette. Shot Through the Heart, Bon Jovi. Don't Go Breaking My Heart, Elton John and Kiki Dee. My Achy Breaky Heart, Billy Ray Cyrus. Heartbreak Hotel, Elvis Presley. Stop! In the Name of Love, The Supremes. Try a Little Tenderness, Otis Redding. Try (Just a Little Bit Harder), Janis Joplin. All Apologies, Nirvana. Hanging on the Telephone, Blondie. I Just Called to Say I Love You, Stevie Wonder. Love Will Keep Us Together, Captain and Tennille. Let's Stay Together, Al Green. It Ain't Over til It's Over, Lenny Kravitz. What's Love Got to Do With It? Tina Turner. You Don't Bring Me Flowers Anymore, Barbara Streisand and Neil Diamond. I Wish You Wouldn't Say That, Talking Heads. You're So Vain, Carley Simon. Love is a Battlefield, Pat Benatar. Heaven Knows I'm Miserable Now, the Smiths. (Can't Get No) Satisfaction, the Rolling Stones. Must Have Been Love (But It's Over Now), Roxette. Breaking Up is Hard To Do, Neil Sedaka. I Will Survive, Gloria Gaynor. Hit the Road Jack, Mary McCaslin and Jim Ringer. These Boots Are Made For Walkin, Nancy Sinatra. All Out of Love, Air Supply. All By Myself, Eric Carmen.
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.
That was brimmed up with prayer and rest;
He bade me out into the gloom,
And my breast lies upon his breast.
O what to me my mother's care,
The house where I was safe and warm;
The shadowy blossom of my hair
Will hide us from the bitter storm.
O hiding hair and dewy eyes,
I am no more with life and death,
My heart upon his warm heart lies,
My breath is mixed into his breath.
OHHHH the crocodile went to the dentist
and he sat down in the chair
and the dentist said
now tell me sir,
why does it hurt and where?
and the crocodile said
i'll tell you the truth
I've a terrible terrible ache in my tooth
and he opened his jaws so wide, so wide
the dentist, he climbed right inside!
and the dentist laughed and said
oh, isn't this fun!
as he pulled the teeth out
one, by, one
and the crocodile cried
you're hurting me so!
please put down your pliers and let me go!
but the dentist just laughed and said
ho, ho, ho!
i still have 12 to go! oops!
that's the wrong one, i confess
but what's one crocodile tooth, more or less?
and then suddenly, the jaws went
SNAP
and the dentist was gone
right off the map
and where he went no one could guess
from north to south
from east to west
he left no forwarding address,
but
what's one dentist, more or less?
Gracieux fils de Pan! Autour de ton front couronné de fleurettes et de baies tes yeux, des boules précieuses, remuent. Tachées de lies brunes, tes joues se creusent. Tes crocs luisent. Ta poitrine ressemble à une cithare, des tintements circulent dans tes bras blonds. Ton coeur bat dans ce ventre òu dort le double sexe. Promène-toi la nuit, en mouvant doucement cette cuisse, cette seconde cuisse et cette jambe de gauche.
i don't even know why really but i am obsessed with this poem. that last line is so original imo
I swear that when our lips touch I can taste the next 60 years of my life.
It isn't in the mirror, it isn't on the page
It's a red hearted vibration
Pushing through the walls of dark imagination
Finding no equation
There's a red road rage, but it's not road rage
It's asylum seekers engulfed by a grudge
Scottish friction, Scottish fiction
It isn't in the castle, it isn't in the mist
It's a calling of the waters as they break to show
The new black death with reactors aglow
Do you think your security will keep you in purity
You will not shake us off
Above or below
Scottish friction, Scottish fiction.
(Exc. from Locksley Hall - Alfred, Lord Tennyson)
For I dipt into the future, far as human eye could see, Saw the vision of the world, and all the wonder that would be;
Saw the heavens fill with commerce, argosies of magic sails, Pilots of the purple twilight, dropping down with costly bales;
Heard the heavens fill with shouting, and there rain’d a ghastly dew From the nations’ airy navies grappling in the central blue;
Far along the world-wide whisper of the south-wind rushing warm, With the standards of the peoples plunging thro’ the thunderstorm;
Till the war-drum throbbed no longer, and the battle-flags were furl’d In the Parliament of man, the Federation of the world.
There the common sense of most shall hold a fretful realm in awe, And the kindly earth shall slumber, lapt in universal law.
So I triumph’d, ere my passion sweeping thro’ me left me dry, Left me with the palsied heart, and left me with the jaundiced eye;
Eye, to which all order festers, all things here are out of joint, Science moves, but slowly slowly, creeping on from point to point:
Slowly comes a hungry people, as a lion, creeping nigher, Glares at one that nods and winks behind a slowly-dying fire.
Yet I doubt not thro’ the ages one increasing purpose runs, And the thoughts of men are widen’d with the process of the suns.
What is that to him that reaps not harvest of his youthful joys, Tho’ the deep heart of existence beat for ever like a boy’s?
Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and I linger on the shore, And the individual withers, and the world is more and more.
Knowledge comes, but wisdom lingers, and he bears a laden breast, Full of sad experience, moving toward the stillness of his rest.
Last stanza
24
You're in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won't tell you that he loves
you, but he loves you. And you feel like you've done something terr-
ible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself
a grave in the dirt, and you're tired. You're in a car with a beautiful boy,
and you're trying not to tell him that you love him, and you're trying to
choke down the feeling, and you're trembling, but he reaches over and
he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your
heart taking root in your body, like you've discovered something you
don't even have a name for.
Edited at 2012-11-02 11:02 pm (UTC)
https://twitter.com/MANNEQUINdance
https://twitter.com/MANNEQUINdance
https://twitter.com/MANNEQUINdance
https://twitter.com/MANNEQUINdance
I'm a bitch, underemployed, awesome and .... I follow back!
https://twitter.com/stace__case
https://twitter.com/stace__case
http://twitter.com/sabbyagogo
http://twitter.com/sabbyagogo
http://twitter.com/sabbyagogo
but im here for these fab michonne gifs
i get capslock ragey a lot and sometimes hit on my followers lol
I am locked, but I allow everyone who requests (given they are not from my place of work)
Hey you guys <3
Happy weekend
^_^
pad thai/thai food
Or idk, spaghetti?
idk, do what you want.
pancakes?
DOWNDRUNK ON FRIDAYEdited at 2012-11-02 11:02 pm (UTC)