Mistrust Certain Flowers

March 24, 2015

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Mistrust Certain Flowers.
An artist has aerosolled this
high along the Death-Star corridors of New York.

Perhaps this is when she began thinking of him,
because of how he would say it,
soft loud soft,
not what it meant or did not mean.

Her tongue is swollen wood,
an old door.
She practices his name out loud,
behind the coffee machine.
Unaccustomed to its shape
the air holds it,
an insect set in honey.

Sometimes she tries to wear his name
over her shoulders.
Behind the blue citadel
fat rain cracks on his suede jacket.

One night after drinking
she lays dry timbers in the cellar of her language.
He’s sleeping when she trails the powder.
He buckles,
like someone has set a defibrillator
square on his chest,
then starts breathing again.
The voltage distracts her. She has only one lit match.

Maybe it was whiplash
that brought him back,
over pyramids, parmesan triangles,
weightless and with clouds pooling below,
into the cold.

About this meeting,
there is more electricity in temporary rooms,
city streets,
like dry leaves in an anti-cyclone,
hot petals passing under the skin.

Sarah Hall

Unmade Beds…

March 24, 2015

unmadebed

I love unmade beds. I love when people are drunk and crying and cannot be anything but honest in that moment. I love the look in people’s eyes when they realize they’re in love. I love the way people look when they first wake up and they’ve forgotten their surroundings. I love the gasp people take when their favorite character dies. I love when people close their eyes and drift to somewhere in the clouds. I fall in love with people and their honest moments all the time. I fall in love with their breakdowns and their smeared makeup and their daydreams. Honesty is just too beautiful to ever put into words.

Words….

March 24, 2015

bookold

Words, he decided, were inadequate at best, impossible at worst. They meant too many things. Or they meant nothing at all.

Patricia A. McKillip
In the Forests of Serre

Orgasms….

March 24, 2015

man

Orgasms, I feel — whether achieved yourself or through a willing partner — are some of the most intense, yet blissful moments of peace you’ll ever find. They’re natures psychedelic. We should share this experience more earnestly; especially with a soul we are connect with like woven thread.

Dae Lee (Daeizm)

Give it to her…

March 24, 2015

giveittoher

golden rule

Very gently…

March 24, 2015

lipstick

Very gently and quietly, almost as if it were the blood singing in her veins, or the water of the stream running over stones, she became conscious of a new feeling within her. She wondered for a moment what it was, and then said to herself, with a little surprise at recognising in her own person so famous a thing: is happiness.

Virginia Woolf
The Voyage Out

This is why it hurts…

March 24, 2015

submissive

This is why it hurts the way it hurts. You have too many words in your head. There are too many ways to describe the way you feel. You will never have the luxury of a dull ache. You must suffer through the intricacy of feeling too much.

Iain Thomas
I Wrote This For You

What’s for lunch…?

March 24, 2015

whatsforlunch

How can anyone call themself an animal lover, and still eat meat?

Spell to free you from fear