(Source: krupadeluxe)
POETRYEATER: Heather Christle, "Soup is One Form of Salt Water"
I am making borscht please do not laugh at me I seem to have ruined my soul the quality of television programming grows stronger all the time soon we will live in the ocean we will all return to the ocean my hands are bright pink like I have been applauding you for hours my love for you is louder than I know I saw a show last night there were four thousand brides left in Iceland I was laughing but it was not funny the brides looked embarrassed and cold I must not wash anywhere but a tide pool I must use starfish to scrub at my hands I am writing this to say I am not leaving you forever I am going to get better and then I’ll come home
The New Song, by W.S. Merwin
For some time I thought there was time
for what I had a mind to do
and what I could imagine
going back to and finding it
as I had found it the first time
but by this time I do not know
what I thought when I thought back then
-
there is no time yet it grows less
there is the sound of rain at night
arriving unknown in the leaves
once without before or after
then I hear the thrush waking
at daybreak singing the new song
Line Breaks & Other Violent Crimes: "Words, what is the word, matter," by Bob Hicok
“You broke my kneecaps” makes more sense
than “You broke my heart.” The jilted
would recognize each other at the bus stop
on crutches and gather their sniffling woe
like a herd of tripods off to the side
and smoke a communal smoke while writing
country songs in their thoughts
that begin with lines…
Abraham Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, a theory in psychology, proposed in 1943 in his paper A Theory of Human Motivation. (via Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs.svg - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia)
(Source: snowce)
"
For a moment I could feel time the way he felt it—it was endless. Everything could still happen, so no decision could be very wrong. That was exactly the opposite of how I was feeling now, at thirty-five. I drove home from Paramount feeling ancient, like the characters in my script.
Sophie: We’ll be forty in five years.
Jason: Forty is almost fifty, and after fifty the rest is just loose change.
Sophie: Loose change?
Jason: Like not quite enough to get anything you really want.
I knew this wasn’t really true, but that was the paralyzing sensation. There wasn’t time to make mistakes anymore, or to do things without knowing why. And each thing I made had to be more impossibly challenging than the last, which was hair-raising, since I had been out of my depths from the very start.
"http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/books/2011/10/andrew-bullfrog-tadpoles-250-each-paramount.html#ixzz1c8NI7fMI
