All through our gliding journey, on this day as on so many others, a little song runs through my mind. I say song because it passes musically, but it is really just words, a thought that is neither strange nor complex. In fact, how strange it would be not to think it – not to have such music inside one’s head and body, on such an afternoon. What does it mean, say the words, that the earth is so beautiful? And what shall I do about it? What is the gift I should bring to the world? What is the life I should live?

Mary Oliver
Long Life

sooner be eaten by you

January 4, 2020

“Please,” she said, “you’re so beautiful. You may eat me if you like. I’d sooner be eaten by you than fed by anyone else.”

C.S. Lewis
The Horse and His Boy

Death in love

October 10, 2019

Life is so beautiful that death has fallen in love with it, a jealous, possessive love that grabs at what it can.

Yann Martel
Life of Pi

I Feel Drunk All The Time

September 14, 2019

Jesus it’s beautiful!
Great mother of big apples it is a pretty
You’re a bastard Mr. Death
And I wish you didn’t have no look-in here.
I don’t know how the rest of you feel,
But I feel drunk all the time
And I wish to hell we didn’t have to die.
O you’re a merry bastard Mr. Death
And I wish you didn’t have no hand in this game
Because it’s too damn beautiful for anybody to die.

Kenneth Patchen


September 10, 2019

You are pure poetry. I see you every day, over and over, and your poetry is unchanged – timeless and beautiful

I think I’m bi

September 8, 2019

Women are so beautiful

take a woman down to her skin
and you can trace the lines of her back
like tracing the curves of silken cloth
every dimple
every curve

the crease of the neck
the elegance of the shoulder blades
the rolling divot of the spinal cord
the curve of her sides
the dimples at the bottom of her spine
her hips
that dint that curves around to her inner thighs
her thighs
her knees
her ankles

the feeling of pressing your naked body up to her naked body
your hands on her hips
your palms in her dimples
your chest on her back
chin in her collar
fingers in her pelvic crease
your lips on her neck
her arse fits into your pelvis
your tongue at her jaw line
hands in between her thighs
teeth pulling at her earlobe
fingers on her cunt
her cum on your fingers
your leg wrapped around hers
your hand tracing her outline
like rolling hills
and smooth

she’s so beautiful
and it’s all so perfect



December 30, 2018

Women speaking of mirrors and prettiness make it all too clear that even for pretty women, mirrors are the foci of anxious, not gratified, narcissism. The woman who knows beyond a doubt that she is beautiful exists aplenty in male novelists’ imaginations; I have yet to find her in women’s books or women’s memoirs or in life. Women spend a lot of time looking in mirrors, but the “compulsion to visualize the self” is a phrase Moers uses of women in her chapter on Gothic freaks and horrors; the compulsion is a constant check on one’s (possible) beauty, not an enjoyment of it.

Joanna Russ
Aesthetics, How to Suppress Women’s Writing


December 14, 2018

It’s no secret that I love wild little girls. The ones with unbrushed hair and torn leggings; the ones who won’t hug Great Aunt Maude just because she expected it. The ones who just won’t learn how to act in a skirt. But here’s the deeper thing: My wish, my fragile dream, is to raise a woman who never stops being wild.

Maybe she cuts off all her hair because it was a bother. Maybe she grows it long because it’s beautiful. Maybe she always wears skirts. Maybe she never wears skirts. Hopefully, she trusts implicitly in strong arms and legs, clever fingers, quick wits–in herself. But for others, her trust must be earned, like a cat’s. Like a cat, she stays in your lap exactly as long as suits her, and no longer.

I want to raise a woman who never has to re-learn how to be free.


offering herself

October 14, 2018

She was beautiful when she suffered; her eyes were deeper, her voice warmer, fuller; her dark beauty was simpler and more human. Her suffering had a quality of saintliness. It was her way of offering herself. I couldn’t see her suffer without telling her I loved her, as if love was the negation of evil.

Elie Wiesel

unapologetically herself

September 9, 2018

There is nothing more rare, nor more beautiful, than a woman being unapologetically herself; comfortable in her perfect imperfection. To me, that is the true essence of beauty.

Steve Maraboli
Unapologetically You: Reflections on Life and the Human Experience