blinding sincerity

And I'll do the things that remind me of you
And I'll wash my hair in your shampoo
And I'll buy your perfume
And spray it round my room
And I'll smoke your cigarettes
So that I'm dying too

Am I sane?

silent party

Therefore I will wail and howl, I will go stripped and naked: I will make a wailing like the dragons, and mourning as the owls. (Micah 1:9)

img via bleach black

life & death 101

"I heard that my mother is dead. I wish I had time to let her die. I wish I had time to wish I had. It is because in the wild and outraged earth too soon too soon too soon. It's not that I wouldn't and will not it's that it is too soon too soon too soon.

Now it begins to say it. New Hope three miles. New Hope three miles. That's what they mean by the womb of time: the agony and the despair of spreading bones, the hard girdle in which lie the outraged entrails of events..."

- From Faulkner's As I Lay Dying

oh hell yes

unfortunuance.

when its raining in the city and it's cold but not cold enough and the sun comes out after the rain soaks the ground and the glare from the concrete is blinding. worst case scenario.

but early fall when it's just right and the clouds cover the sun enough so there's no glare and the rain sinks into the concrete and penetrates it because the air is so thick and the leaves stick all over the sidewalk and everyone is prettier in the softer light. then i love portland.

RIP

at my most

this is the most amazing thing i've ever read.
Hemingway, from The Nick Adams Stories. maybe originally from In Our Time, but don't quote me.

"Nick sat against the wall of the church where they had dragged him to be clear of the machine-gun fire in the street. Both legs stuck out awkwardly. He had been hit in the spine. His face was sweaty and dirty. The sun shone on his face. The day was very hot. Rinaldi, big-backed, his equipment sprawling, lay face downward against the wall. Nick looked straight ahead brilliantly. The pink wall of the house opposite had fallen out from the roof, and an iron bedstead hung twisted toward the street. Two Austrian dead lay in the rubble in the shade of the house. Up the street were other dead. Things were getting forward in the town. It was going well. Stretcher-bearers would be along any time now. Nick turned his head and looked down at Rinaldi. "Senta, Rinaldi, senta. You and me, we've made a separate peace." Rinaldi lay still in the sun, breathing with difficulty. "We're not patriots." Nick turned his head away, smiling sweatily. Rindaldi was a disappointing audience."

rough patches

do you ever scare yourself with the sound of your own voice in complete silence?

i should be grateful and focus on other things. like life.
i am trying.
this is not what it sounds like.

this helps:

i swear to god

this video is my fucking life up till now.

me right now

"You are pretty and nice and talented and sweet and everything good in the whole world is you." - Wilmer Valderrama; That '70s Show