Growing up away from the water has not meant that I love it less, but that I love it differently. The pull of tides is strong, like blood rushing to my cheeks when hand to hand and mouth on mouth, like a wanting inside that waxes and wanes with the moon but refuses to ebb away and leave me entirely. I am shipwrecked far from the shore, so far ( Read more... )

sounds ♪♪ falling is like this

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"My soul is a hidden orchestra; I know not what instruments, what fiddlestrings and harps, drums and tambours I sound and clash inside myself. All I hear is the symphony."
- - The Book of Disquiet - Fernando Pessoastaring up, the third light in the bouquet of three flickered and went out - i am still holding myself in for the sad small popping ( Read more... )

January:
I miss my friends, I miss last year (even though I shouldn't, I've over-romanticized it all to hell but...but...).

FebruaryOh, ginsberg's voice (& kerouac's, of course, and buk's ((my dirty old man, smoky old man)) ). These things are wonderful. I start sentences with 'Oh' so often. I've started using silly terms of endearment too - ( Read more... )