1. 21:00 19th Apr 2014

    Notes: 86

    Reblogged from metaphorformetaphor


    And if happiness should surprise you again, do not mention its previous betrayal.
    Enter into the happiness, and burst.

    — Mahmoud Darwish, from "Journal of an Ordinary Grief". Archipelago, 2010

  2. 00:00

    Notes: 231

    Reblogged from the-final-sentence

    [“Yes? Stop biting your lip, and say it.”
    “Thank you, my thief.”]
    “You’re welcome, my queen.” “
    — Megan Whalen Turner, from The Thief (via the-final-sentence)
  3. It ends badly, this glass of wine,
    before you drink it
    you have to drink a prior glass,
    before you sip you gulp,
    before you chug the bottle
    you pour it down your throat,
    before we lie together
    naked, we divorce, before we rest
    we grow old, it ends in chaos,
    but it is delicious,
    when we wake it is the past,
    we are the faces staring
    from the high lit window,
    the unmet lovers, the rivals
    who do not exist,
    united in a radiance
    that will not fade at dawn.
    — D. Nurkse, "The Rain-Streaked Avenues of Central Queens," in Poetry (Vol. 191, No. 4, January 2008)
  4. 07:51

    Notes: 830

    Reblogged from journalofanobody

    (Source: weibylin)

  5. rewindah:

    Artist: Eliza Gilkyson
    Title: Sleeper
    Album: Going Driftless: An Artist’s Tribute to Greg Brown
    Year: 2002
    Label:  Red House

    It’s another happy April to every happy fool. And you move through my dreams like a trout moves through a pool. Sure I will do anything, but I blush at the reverie. Sleeper come and go with me. And she always was a painter and she left me her suitcase, and I still remember the soft lines of her drunken face, as she stood there in my doorway, like a cat up in a tree. Sleeper come and go with me. A small farm in Wisconsin for a driftless man, supper on the table, and a lover’s tender hands, though she leaves my salt and woodsmoke, for a job in the city. Sleeper come and go with me. I will take you with my children, through the clover, to the creek, when Orion’s gone a hunting through the fields our wishes seek, where we all can love each other like sugar in our tea. Sleeper come and go with me. Well the last wild fling is over and a cold wind brings the dawn, to rows of parking meters and the shadow of a blond, who is standing by the wild rye in a pointless dream. Sleeper come and go with me.