The Latest

aseaofquotes:

— Rainer Maria Rilke
Oct 1, 2014 / 1,262 notes

aseaofquotes:

— Rainer Maria Rilke

(via iameatingpoetry)

I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.

I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.

I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.

Anne Sexton, “Her Kind” (via iameatingpoetry)
Oct 1, 2014 / 13 notes

Bring me your pain, love. Spread
it out like fine rugs, silk sashes,
warm eggs, cinnamon
and cloves in burlap sacks. Show me

the detail, the intricate embroidery
on the collar, tiny shell buttons,
the hem stitched the way you were taught,
pricking just a thread, almost invisible.

Unclasp it like jewels, the gold
still hot from your body. Empty
your basket of figs. Spill your wine.

That hard nugget of pain, I would suck it,
cradling it on my tongue like the slick
seed of a pomegranate. I would lift it

tenderly, as a great animal might
carry a small one in the private
cave of the mouth.

Ellen Bass, “Basket of Figs” (via iameatingpoetry)

(via commovente)

Oct 1, 2014 / 572 notes
Oct 1, 2014 / 317 notes

commovente:

the waiting, angel olsen 

Oct 1, 2014 / 7,443 notes

communicants:

35 rhums (Claire Denis, 2008)

(via commovente)

Bring me your pain, love. Spread
it out like fine rugs, silk sashes,
warm eggs, cinnamon
and cloves in burlap sacks. Show me

the detail, the intricate embroidery
on the collar, tiny shell buttons,
the hem stitched the way you were taught,
pricking just a thread, almost invisible.

Unclasp it like jewels, the gold
still hot from your body. Empty
your basket of figs. Spill your wine.

That hard nugget of pain, I would suck it,
cradling it on my tongue like the slick
seed of a pomegranate. I would lift it

tenderly, as a great animal might
carry a small one in the private
cave of the mouth.

Ellen Bass, “Basket of Figs” (via iameatingpoetry)

(via commovente)

Oct 1, 2014 / 572 notes
Sep 30, 2014 / 264,625 notes

unlimitedgoats:

luxvriously:

My anaconda will consider it

My anaconda has, upon review of the information presented with it’s partners, decided that it, in fact, does not. My anaconda apologizes for any inconvenience this may cause and thanks you for your time.

(via radioheads1997)

Sep 30, 2014 / 13,757 notes

zootedboy:

*throws in big words mid sentence so u know i fuck wit books*

(via lullabysounds)

We teach our sweet little girls
to be liars and fakers
from a young age:
No, I’m not hungry.
Wow, that feels great.
No, I don’t blame you.
Yes, I love you.
No, I’m fine.
Michelle K., We Raise Liars.  (via lullabysounds)

(via lullabysounds)

Sep 30, 2014 / 15,943 notes
Sep 30, 2014 / 6,993 notes

devoutfashion:

RIS/RYN Spring/Summer 2015

(via acornbutt)