June 2013
I feel like the Hannibal fandom motto needs an addendum.
“Someone please help Will Graham… no, not you, Dr. Lecter, sit down.”
Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
HOT AS FUCK
“Give me the strongest cheese, the one that stinks best;
and I want the good wine, the swirl in crystal
surrendering the bruised scent of blackberries,
or cherries, the rich spurt in the back
of the throat, the holding it there before swallowing.
Give me the lover who yanks open the door
of his house and presses me to the wall
in the dim hallway, and keeps me there until I’m drenched
and shaking, whose kisses arrive by the boatload
and begin their delicious diaspora
through the cities and small towns of my body.
To hell with the saints, with martyrs
of my childhood meant to instruct me
in the power of endurance and faith,
to hell with the next world and its pallid angels
swooning and sighing like Victorian girls.
I want this world. I want to walk into
the ocean and feel it trying to drag me along
like I’m nothing but a broken bit of scratched glass,
and I want to resist it. I want to go
staggering and flailing my way
through the bars and back rooms,
through the gleaming hotels and weedy
lots of abandoned sunflowers and the parks
where dogs are let off their leashes
in spite of the signs, where they sniff each
other and roll together in the grass, I want to
lie down somewhere and suffer for love until
it nearly kills me, and then I want to get up again
and put on that little black dress and wait
for you, yes you, to come over here
and get down on your knees and tell me
just how fucking good I look.” —“For Desire,” Kim Addonizio (via commovente)
and I want the good wine, the swirl in crystal
surrendering the bruised scent of blackberries,
or cherries, the rich spurt in the back
of the throat, the holding it there before swallowing.
Give me the lover who yanks open the door
of his house and presses me to the wall
in the dim hallway, and keeps me there until I’m drenched
and shaking, whose kisses arrive by the boatload
and begin their delicious diaspora
through the cities and small towns of my body.
To hell with the saints, with martyrs
of my childhood meant to instruct me
in the power of endurance and faith,
to hell with the next world and its pallid angels
swooning and sighing like Victorian girls.
I want this world. I want to walk into
the ocean and feel it trying to drag me along
like I’m nothing but a broken bit of scratched glass,
and I want to resist it. I want to go
staggering and flailing my way
through the bars and back rooms,
through the gleaming hotels and weedy
lots of abandoned sunflowers and the parks
where dogs are let off their leashes
in spite of the signs, where they sniff each
other and roll together in the grass, I want to
lie down somewhere and suffer for love until
it nearly kills me, and then I want to get up again
and put on that little black dress and wait
for you, yes you, to come over here
and get down on your knees and tell me
just how fucking good I look.” —“For Desire,” Kim Addonizio (via commovente)
i have a basket with 10 apples in it and a basket with 20 apples in it and i want to make the baskets equal
so i figured i have 10 more apples, ill put 10 more apples into the first basket and no more into the second basket
but its weird because when i reach over to put the 10 apples in the first basket the second basket starts crying and says “why don’t i get 10 apples too”
(the baskets have little faces and can talk to me)
i try explaining to basket #2 that it already has 20 apples in it and i want to make them equal
“if you want to make us equal then give me 10 apples too! i want it to be equal too. 10 apples for both baskets. that’s equal. don’t you know what equal means?” the second basket says
i try explaining to basket #2 that he has an incorrect understanding of the situation but it insists that if i don’t give 10 apples to both baskets, i’m showing disproportional preference for basket #1.
i try to just put the apples in basket #1 and bypass basket #2’s opinions and be done with it but this time when i reach over, basket #2 throws itself at basket #1 in frustration and knocks the 10 apples out of my hand onto the floor and knocks a bunch more apples out of basket #1 in the process
basket #1 has a hard time picking the apples back up off the floor because every time basket #1 picks one more apple up basket #2 yells and cries and says “look! look! basket #1 got another apple! look! someone give me another apple too! it’s only fair!”
i say, “basket #2, youre a terrible basket and i hate you” but it wont stop and it wont be quiet. this has been a story about my talking baskets.
The Great Gatsby 2
… they thought he was dead…
……..but they rebuilt him…
…faster … stronger … smarter…
old sports die hard
In
The Great Gatling-Gunsby
West Egg is about to be Scrambled
