The modern conservative is engaged in one of man’s oldest exercises in moral...– John Kenneth Galbraith (via juliaudacious)
Change, move, dead clock, that this fresh day May break with dazzling light to...– Weldon Kees, “Small Prayer” (via proustitute)
Learning how to play the piano, I favored the most melancholy pieces because they were slow, and my hesitations blurred into the semblance of feeling. In the music we listened to at school we heard donkeys descending into the canyon, followed by a storm. As if the point of art was to make us think of something else. Anxious to step outside my parents’ lives, I was unwilling to give up...
Hoping to see him (and others!) with the Super...
Is this you? Your light, my beacon, the river shining a way out. The tar pits of night are sucking me in. All hail the ships that sail beyond dusk without wind. All love is love in the dark. All love is love in the dark. I fought. I am coming home. When we die it is poetry that leaves the body… … - from “Strange Light” in Strange Light by Derrick Brown
It’s an odd feature about the way human beings work that there are many things...– Alain de Botton in Philosophy Bites. This reminds me of some of Tyler Cowen’s arguments in The Age of the Infovore: Sociological approaches to cultural taste often imply that taste differences are contrived, artificial, or reflect wasteful status-seeking. The result is that we appreciate taste...
Delphiniums in a Window Box
justhersecretgarden: Every sunrise, even strangers’ eyes. Not necessarily swans, even crows, even the evening fusillade of bats. That place where the creek goes underground, how many weeks before I see you again? Stacks of books, every page, characters’ rages and poets’ strange contraptions of syntax and song, every song even when there isn’t one. Every thistle, splinter, butterfly over the...
Don’t drop it, Don’t drop it, Don’t drop it—, And when you do, you will keep...– Tony Hoagland, from “How it Adds Up” (via proustitute)
Switchblade Mermaid by Derrick Brown
Look at how my hair lifts when the air is filled and thunder arrives. You charged my skin with a horrible weather. I was underdressed. There are no questions in the hands I write around you. I do not wish for a tiny microphone on the back of your little licorice throat. Let the secrets in your satin heart settle down. Let that heart blaze, how it can jealous the sunset. I do not wonder what...