Why so serious?

"We’ve been kissing for months. Three times a week our toothbrushes share a chipped porcelain mug in..."

Sun, 19 May 2013 18:43:13 +0100

“We’ve been kissing for months. Three times a week our toothbrushes share a chipped porcelain mug in my bathroom. As my lips reach for the juice falling from her laugh, her mom calls. I listen as she talks about Biology, her new job, asks about her sister. Her eyes drop as she whispers, No, I still don’t have a boyfriend.

On cue, I stop chewing. She looks at me, waiting for my face to flush, for me to tear from the bed, but I won’t get mad at her. She shouldn’t have to explain why we can’t go swimming in public, why I don’t own a razor, why she doesn’t need to buy birth control. She hangs up the phone; I pick up the fruit, tell her Apparently, there’s a tiny amount of cyanide in apple seeds.

She shrugs, says she can handle a little danger, but I’ve studied how her dimples disappear when she lies, and I know she’s thinking about a man she could parade around her family, who could kiss her scratchy with stubble. The kind of man I’ll never be.

She squeezes my hand in the movie theater dark but tosses it to the side in front of her friends. Says she just needs time. She walks on the sidewalk. I walk in the street. She closes the door. I kiss it goodnight. She goes home for Thanksgiving. I promise not to call.

If I were a postcard, she could hide me in her pocket. If I were clay, she could mold my body into something easier to love. If I were the guy who sells her a cup of coffee every morning. I could smile at her anonymously, safe as a stranger.

She kisses down my neck, my peel hiding the rotten fruit inside me. As I tell her about the cyanide, her head resting on my chest, she talks about cider, autumn pies. See, she says, Apples are harmless. But she saves the last bites for me, scared to let her lips wander too close to the core.”

- Miles Walser, “We Eat an Apple In My Bed” from What The Night Demands (via coffeeurlgirl)

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Tue, 14 May 2013 02:07:31 +0100

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Fri, 10 May 2013 02:08:45 +0100

connotativewords: November 24, 2012 just a few details you...

Wed, 08 May 2013 19:26:30 +0100

connotativewords:

November 24, 2012

just a few details you might like to know

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Tue, 07 May 2013 02:24:47 +0100

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Fri, 03 May 2013 21:25:31 +0100

"Well, let it pass, he thought; April is over, April is over. There are all kinds of love in the..."

Fri, 03 May 2013 17:57:38 +0100

“Well, let it pass, he thought; April is over, April is over. There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice.”

- F. Scott Fitzgerald, Magnetism (via pythons)

luna-queen: ॐ ~feel the peace vibes~ ॐ

Fri, 03 May 2013 17:56:52 +0100

luna-queen:

ॐ ~feel the peace vibes~ ॐ

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Fri, 03 May 2013 16:21:27 +0100

“Do not fall in love with people like mewe will take you tomuseums and parksand monumentsand kiss...

Wed, 01 May 2013 02:26:30 +0100

“Do not fall in love with people like me
we will take you to
museums and parks
and monuments
and kiss you in every beautiful
place so that you can
never go back to them
without tasting us
like blood in your mouth.”

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Fri, 26 Apr 2013 20:30:54 +0100

theboobsmilk: lucidliving: ancienttimenews: Lost Kingdom Of...

Fri, 26 Apr 2013 20:19:03 +0100

theboobsmilk:

lucidliving:

ancienttimenews:

Lost Kingdom Of Cleopatra

Off the shores of Alexandria, the city of Alexander the Great, lies what is believed to be the ruins of the royal quarters of Cleopatra. A team of marine archaeologists led by Frenchman Franck Goddio made excavation on this ancient city from where Cleopatra, the last queen of the Ptolemies, ruled Egypt. Historians believe this site was submerged by earthquakes and tidal waves more than 1,600 years ago.

The excavations concentrated on the submerged island of Antirhodus. Cleopatra is said to have had a palace there. Other discoveries include a well-preserved shipwreck and red granite columns with Greek inscriptions. There were also founded two statues which were lifted out of the harbor. One was a priest of the goddess Isis; the other a sphinx whose face is said to represent Cleopatra’s father, King Ptolemy XII. The artifacts were returned to their silent, because the Egyptian Government says it wants to leave most of them in place to create an underwater museum

Source 1 Source 2 Source 3

Omg still so much nerd boner over this

AW YIS HISTURY

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Fri, 26 Apr 2013 00:24:31 +0100

"You’re not doing well and finally I don’t have to pretend to be so interested in your on going..."

Tue, 23 Apr 2013 18:51:59 +0100

“

You’re not doing well and finally I don’t have to
pretend to be so interested in your on going tragedy,

but

I’ll rob the bank that gave you the impression that
money is more fruitful than words, and
I’ll cut holes in the ozone if it means you have one less day of rain.
I’ll walk you to the hospital,
I’ll wait in a white room that reeks of hand sanitizer and latex for the results from the MRI scan that tries to
locate the malady that keeps your mind guessing, and
I want to write you a poem every day until my hand breaks
and assure you that you’ll find your place,
it’s just
the world has a funny way of
hiding spots fertile enough for
bodies like yours to grow roots.

and

I miss you like a dart hits the iris of a bullseye,
or a train ticket screams 4:30 at 4:47, I
wanted to tell you that it’s my birthday on Thursday
and I would have wanted you to
give me the gift of your guts on the floor, one last time,
to see if you still had it in you.

I hope our ghosts aren’t eating you alive.
If I’m to speak for myself, I’ll tell you that
the universe is twice as big as we think it is
and you’re the only one that made that idea
less devastating.

”

- Small, Lucas Regazzi (via 1000scientists)

"You cut up a thing that’s alive and beautiful to find out how it’s alive and why it’s beautiful, and..."

Mon, 22 Apr 2013 23:15:44 +0100

“You cut up a thing that’s alive and beautiful to find out how it’s alive and why it’s beautiful, and before you know it, it’s neither of those things, and you’re standing there with blood on your face and tears in your sight and only the terrible ache of guilt to show for it.”

- Clive Barker (via weaverofstars)

"It doesn’t make sense to call ourselves ugly, because we don’t really see ourselves. We don’t watch..."

Mon, 22 Apr 2013 02:08:45 +0100

“It doesn’t make sense to call ourselves ugly, because we don’t really see ourselves. We don’t watch ourselves sleeping in bed, curled up and silent with chests rising and falling with our own rhythm. We don’t see ourselves reading a book, eyes fluttering and glowing. You don’t see yourself looking at someone with love and care inside your heart. There’s no mirror in your way when you’re laughing and smiling and happiness is leaking out of you. You would know exactly how bright and beautiful you are if you saw yourself in the moments where you are truly yourself.”

- Unknown (via ssshani)

"My second grade teacher liked to ask us, “How do you feel today, on a scale of one to ten?” Ten..."

Sat, 20 Apr 2013 04:01:28 +0100

“

My second grade teacher liked to ask us,
“How do you feel today, on a scale of one to ten?”
Ten always meant I’m super, thank you
and one was always not today, Mrs. MacAuley, not today.
But I never liked numbers, they would always
twist and rebel against my mind so I chose
to speak in colors instead.

January third - I am the color
of mint chocolate chip ice cream
but I’ve eaten all the chocolate chips.
I am calm.

February seventh - I am a bruise of
blues and violets today. I think it would
be best if I sat by the window.
These are unhappy colors.

April eleventh - I am turquoise, I am magenta,
I am every color in the rainbow.

April thirtieth - I am gray, I am silent.

May first - I am orange, the color of melting
creamsicles on a beach in July.

June twelfth - I am as yellow as the school bus
that will bring me home to summer. I am free.

Twelve years later, I still use colors.
The winter makes me feel cobalt blue, the ocean
turns me a seafoam green. Violets and purples
leave me uneasy and scarlet is a fever of fury.
Some nights I drown in shades of navy, denim,
and cornflower but other nights I meditate in forests of
harlequin and shamrock.

But you,
you leave me a blinding white followed by a soft yellow:
the color of sunlight after a period of darkness.

”

- Kelsey Danielle, “A Diary of Colors” (via weaverofstars)

Coffee-ignited soul: thesedustybones: I will tell you right now that my silence is not a...

Thu, 18 Apr 2013 22:16:36 +0100

Coffee-ignited soul: thesedustybones: I will tell you right now that my silence is not a...:

thesedustybones:

I will tell you right now that my silence is not a sign of my submission. Tie me up, I may tell the right man, because I trust that his hands are not going to choke me, because you know what? There were a few boys that broke me, and I was silent.
I stayed silent
because I…

"People run from rain but sit in bathtubs full of water."

Wed, 17 Apr 2013 00:23:34 +0100

“People run from rain but sit in bathtubs full of water.”

- Charles Bukowski (via creatingaquietmind)

"The moon has stumbled to bed, and I am more awake than a damned casket. My words have been ground..."

Fri, 12 Apr 2013 15:42:32 +0100

“

The moon has stumbled to bed,
and I am more awake than a damned casket.

My words have been ground together like Arabica beans, and this is nothing short
of a refresher,
for the last few months have been a wake up call, that has left me reaching, in pain, for the phone.

I am alone now,
boxed into these four walls.
I am attached, but only to my constructs.
I have nothing more to treasure than grainy memories of happiness
in the form of love’s tension
and thinking
I have everything I need to know within a backpack;
that my textbooks about psychology, and philosophy
will some how lead me to read between the lines,
where there is enough space to
draw myself a map towards
home.

There are now four holes in my bag, one near the bottom,
where the cotton flesh has exposed it’s lining,
and there are only so many books its fragility can handle.

I have been branded as fragile.
I can’t hold a bottle of wine and a social setting together without unearthing ways to pick apart the petals of March’s wild flowers
with absolute certainty
of discarding the second last
‘I love you not’.

Your words have left me tender, your actions, in pieces.
I have torn myself into two’s and four’s and seven’s.
Each limb’s laceration, like the pages of my unlikely tradegy,
sounds like the last time you
said ‘I’m leaving’.

I am lost.
My heart beat used to palpitate to a
monotonous heart beat like a metrinome.
I was music.
But I was out of time, four octaves too high, and I could never quite find a
way of saying ‘I need you’.

My body was at mercy, I was crucified with a kiss by your door step,
and now,
all I want back are the words I gave to you.

We are the damaged goods, we are the cracked ceramics,

We are the lovers, the carvers, the fighters, and to our beloveds, but figments.
We are nothing.

But we are condemned to these mistakes, and we must
fight for more reasons, to love and to carve and to be
more than damaged goods;
to be music again.

I know I’ve fought hard to just breathe without your name
swimming in my heavy April breath,
but you’re barely worth a memory
and I will make myself forget.

”

- In Absence of Sleep, Lucas Regazzi (via 1000scientists)