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ne me quitte pas

It’s mid-April and Toronto just got blanketed with another coat of snow…

“Let me tell you what I do know: I am more than one thing, and not all of those things are good. The truth is complicated. It’s two-toned, multi-vocal, bittersweet. I used to think that if I dug deep enough to discover something sad and ugly, I’d know it was something true. Now I’m trying to dig deeper. I didn’t want to write these pages until there were no hard feelings, no sharp ones. I do not have that luxury. I am sad and angry and I want everyone to be alive again. I want more landmarks, less landmines. I want to be grateful but I’m having a hard time with it.”

— Richard Siken 

(Source: aplethoraofquotations, via memereve)

pictures from görlitz, germany where the grand budapest hotel was filmed

(Source: danaids, via caches)


Portraits, 2013Elizabeth Gadd


larry clark, genetics transformation for zoo magazine no. 40, 2013

(via spicyalien)

I like indulging the dark parts of me best

missing you is the looped sound of a door clicking shut and a bad taste in my mouth I can’t rinse out of my mouth with alcohol

“When I haven’t been kissed

in a long time, I create civil disturbances,
then insult the cops who show up,

till one of them grabs me by the collar
and hurls me up against the squad car,

so I can remember, at least for a moment,
what it’s like to be touched.”

Jeffrey McDaniel, “When A Man Hasn’t Been Kissed” 

(Source: lifeinpoetry, via alonesomes)

(Source: qexist, via oast)


Sea to shining sea, Josef Hoflehner

(Source: josefhoflehner.com, via decembrist)

The one who begins this poem won’t be the same
As the one who will end it. Already

Fifteen minutes have passed since I wrote those lines.
I take my shirt off. The day is getting warm.

Yesterday I learned two words: Geheim, which is German
For secret. Temem, which is Arabic

For plenitude. In a few hours a hundred million people
Who do not speak the same language

Will gaze at the last eclipse of the millennium. Bonheur,
what a beautiful word when formed by the mouth

Of a French Buddhist. Didn’t I tell you words
Should be emptied like a vessel, didn’t I tell you I loved

Schroedinger’s cat. Kept for days in a closed box
The cat can either live or die, but until we look

It is neither dead nor alive. Next question. Ask me what light
Feels like, at the instant when it falls. The one

Who ends this poem is not the same as the one
Who will stand accused and be forced to deny it.

Can sorrow be weighed in gravitons? Is fear genetic?
Does the soul know it exists? Does it echolocate its way

In this world, looking for an exit? The inferno that we form
by being together. ’ Calvino. I use these words

To keep from looking away, ensorcelled by the radiantly
Mortal, but with zero yearning. X = wonder,

Vivid under the spell’s recurring question: Peut-on
Naitre-mourir? Lust kills joy

Instantly: half glass fully empty. Diamond cusp,
Be beautiful, brief, and blinding.

— "Schroedinger’s Cat and the Last Eclipse of the Millenium," Eric Gamalinda 

(Source: commovente, via inkywings)