(Source: drlaurenlewis, via paperboats)
(Source: attemptsatfashion, via thelittlefashionbox)
"There’s only one reader of a novel. That’s, I think, the crucial fact about all of this. Only one person. Every time, only one person."
— Paul Auster, The Believer (Feb. 2005)
gammas & gerunds: Macular Hole
Catherine Wagner
Please god love me and buy me
Read this hillock and ride me
Wraith typing all day for money.God bought me today for two silver fish in a can
God bought me tomorrow for bland in a pan
and a card an email from RebeccaBought four hours of my control alt delete shut down
Bought a new day-section with a headstandMy commerce in shall
Sky like a grandstand
TransactGod performed me today for a half minute
lucky
in locker room hiding my boobs from the kids
and my hair is silky and my mane shot silk goldBought a book on economy
Georgie Bataille
Called about plane tickets
Georgie Bataille
I bought my debt today
Georgie Bataille hooray
Debt off my God todayGod off my debt in a macular hole
I dream of an end like a fount to this night
Run thinner and thinner and then it’s all light
Macerated in signalby my go
I bought my ghost I walk my ghost
—Macular Hole (Fence, 2004)
(Source: poetryfoundation.org)
We talked for a few minutes. She told me that she’d had a plan to join the Navy out of high school, but that fell apart because her knees were bad. She told me that she’d just finished working a 12 hour shift on a food truck. She told me that she’d moved to New York for no reason, just to get out of Kansas. “But I’m so glad I came,” she said.
“Why’s that?” I asked. Her eyes began to water.
“Because I’m so in love with a girl right now.”
gammas & gerunds: For Lenya on Her Way
Carrie Murphy
The intimidation of the ocean which is nothing
compared to escalators which are nothing
compared to riding your bike in a miniskirt,banjoing along the road as the vee of your turquoise
underwear is there & then not there, men looking & then not
looking, which is nothing compared to driving alonein a strange state while a bass drum of hurricane gallops
over, rain & then thunder & then rain & then thunder,
stopping to eat corn nuts & bacon bits which arenot what you ate on the train to Portsmouth all
crooked in the arm of a man who was nothing
compared to the tracks which were such violins,steel sirens, which were nothing compared
to the thick wings of airplanes where you see
angels leering for dear life, mouthing cautionlike lyres or the sudden sound of his breath
from his body in the pitch-dark, the salt-lick
of his teeth & tongue or the solidity of your own bones,& how you want to live in that split-second after the chain is pulled,
when the light is not on & not off.—Pretty Tilt (Keyhole Press, 2012)
apoetreflects:
“Your love was a bit muted, as your voice. One might say you loved askance, and never spoke about love.”
—Vladimir Nabokov, from “Sounds” in The Stories of Vladimir Nabokov (Vintage International, 1997)
(Source: apoetreflects)
sisters g, 1920s Madame Dora Kallmus
"It’s a good thing for a novel to have certain words that live on in readers like a blazing secret."
—
Practical writing advice from a Nobel winner. Thanks, Imre, we’ll all get right on that.
Imre Kertész, DOSSIER K
(via melvillehouse)
“East Village”, Jalouse France, October 1998
Photographer : Huma Rosentalski
Model : Stephanie Smollet
(via paveo)
