June 2010
44 posts
May 2010
70 posts
“To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too...”
– william wordsworth
“If you want to live a happy life, tie it to a goal, not to people or things.”
– - Albert Einstein (via fuckyeahhappy)
I’m sorry. I just can’t do this. 1 quarter and 20 years, still I remain the poorest example of what the Stoics preach.
josieevvrroom:
Haven’t Met You Yet - Michael...
“when I awoke in the middle of the night…I could not even be sure at first...”
– marcel proust, remembrance of things past
Charles Baudelaire - The Head of Hair
O Fleece, foaming in the neck! O curls! O scent of laziness! Ecstasy! This evening, to people the dark corners Of memories that are sleeping in these locks, I would wave them in the air like a handkerchief! Languorous Asia and burning Africa, A whole world, distant, absent, almost extinct, Lives in the depths of your perfumed jungle; As other souls sail along on music, So mine, O my love, swims...
“Beauty is the bait which with delight allures man to enlarge his kind.”
– Plato
Beauty indeed makes man enlarge his kind. In ways of physical attraction. In ways of creativity. In ways of attempting immortality. People think pursuing beauty is shallow, and in the most base ways, it is. But it is also the way to paint elements of the fantastic in our lives. If we knew...
“To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold...”
– William Blake
ode to the only girl
I’ve seen you many times in many places— Theater, bus, train, or on the street; Smiling in spring rain, in winter sleet, Eyes of any hue in myriad faces; Midnight black, all shades of brown your hair, Long, short, bronze or honey-fair. Instantly have I loved, have never spoken; Slowly a truck passed, a light changed, A door closed—all seemingly pre-arranged— Then...
in love for long, part 3
It is not any thing, And yet all being is; Being, being, being, Its burden and its bliss. How can I ever prove What it is I love?
It’s like a riddle. So cute.
I don’t have much to say about this stanza, except i love this line:
Being, being, being/Its burden and its bliss.
The Love Song of G Mildred Buttock, d.w.
Let us go then, you and I When the night is stretched like a bleeding patient On a cart, of a Grey’s Anatomy episode Let us go, past the men looking like McDreamy, Into detergent smelling hospitals To lead you to the game room. Oh, do not tell me, “I want to win!” To cheat at Bingo would be a sin.
Fluffy the kitty races ahead
Fluffy the cat drags mice undead
To the curbs of the road...
The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock, t.s. eliot
Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells: Streets that follow like a tedious argument Of insidious intent To lead you to an overwhelming question … ...
old friends, never a dull moment with them, i can’t remember another night this week when i laughed so much. <3 <3 <3
dartboard
I don’t know why some people are built with softer skin than others. And the easier a target you are, the more darts you attract. (Or is it only a skewed perception? Yet it’s gone on too long and too intense for it to pass for a coincidence or incorrect vision. Maybe it’s group think, or whatever it is that makes people jump on the bandwagon). In any case, there’s...
i wouldn’t mind if you asked me to coffee or something…just saying
(how do you convey the above sentence telepathically?)
in love for long, part two
It is not even a name, Yet is all constancy; Tried or untried, the same, It cannot part from me; A breath, yet as still As the established hill.
Second stanza:
look at the commas in the second line: “…untried, the same, It…” The “the same” is bookended by a comma on each side. It could read: tried or untried, It (Love) remains the same. OR, it could be...
What I Wore: What I Wore: Sweatshirt Chic →
WhatIWore:
When: May 19, 2010
What: Scarf: my mom’s Dolman Hoodie: c/o ModCloth Serena Skinny Jeans: c/o Mavi Shoes: Steve Madden Luxe (from DSW) Belt (as cuff/bracelet): Express
Where: Breakfast meeting
Why: Today was the kind of day I had a pretty…
i don’t think i can ever get on board w/ “sweatshirt chic”, i have one, it’s uchicago, i only wear it in...
make sure you're not in a public place when... →
in love for long, edwin muir, part one
I’ve been in love for long With what I cannot tell And will contrive a song For the intangible That has no mould or shape, From which there’s no escape.
I love the opening line. I’ve been in love for long, with what I cannot tell.
Someone told me they didn’t get it, contentment can pervade, sure, but love must have an object, they objected.
That seems true, but I...
Poem of the Day
Sylvia Plath Mirror I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions. Whatever I see, I swallow immediately. Just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike I am not cruel, only truthful – The eye of a little god, four-cornered. Most of the time I meditate on the opposite wall. It is pink, with speckles. I have looked at it so long I think it is a part of my heart. But it flickers. Faces...
one art
Even losing you, (the joking voice, a gesture
I loved), I shan’t have lied, it’s evident
the art of losing’s not too hard to master
though it may look like (write it) a disaster.
last night I met someone else who can recite this line, it was amazing.
1 tag
PotD: to celia
Drink to me, only, with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And I’ll not look for wine. The thirst, that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine: But might I of Jove’s nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee, late, a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee, As giving it a hope, that there It could not withered be....
thedanglingman:
Please check one :
...
“nice outfit, yo!”
– stranger passing me by
theft
this is from a blog i read today
I…remain prone to ill-thought-out sentences and disguised clichés, clichés buried under baroque cruft. Every comma, every pause, every dash: if I think long enough I can recall the novel I’m lifting it from…
I feel like this is the recurring theme of every person who writes (because i can’t call myself a writer, just like how i don’t...
argh I really should get a cracking on my reading instead of going on gmail/tumblr/facebook, internet sucks all the willpower out of me.
on another note, i really don’t want to stay on campus till 9 today…arghhhhh so close yet so far!!!!!!!!!!!
note to self: get rbim tickets and also go to gym tomo for first time in like a week and a half
guilt trip of the week: my parents are...
