plmidi: Propa - Oddisee Featuring Tranqill &...
The bastard form of mass culture is humiliated repetition … always new books,...– Roland Barthes,The Pleasure of the Text (via man-of-prose)
r-siad: themuslimjournalist: You suppose you are the trouble But you are the cure You suppose that you are the lock on the door But you are the key that opens it It’s too bad that you want to be someone else You don’t see your own face, your own beauty Yet, no face is more beautiful than yours. Rumi Love Love Love
When gays get so angry about a chicken sandwich, it is because Chick-fil-A has...– Conor Gaughan - “We Are Not Arguing Over Chicken” (Huffington Post)
lyquydenygma: A Tribe Called Quest - Get A Hold
Runnin’ (Instrumental) J Dilla was the...
Dockyard 9:30 and the first mate, “it was alive an hour ago when I first pulled up. I think it’s still alive, it’s eyes are open, do they close their eyes when they die?” I was afraid someone would run over it, and I mean, I generally don’t have feelings for birds, let alone seagulls, but there’s something beautiful about the way they shine in the sun, about...
Junk-drawer bodies barefoot, and there beside us we heard about their child, the girl (says the woman), “I don’t want to have to make her pick sides”, and the woman again, “I guess this isn’t important to you right now,” and the man (quiet, calm, but not a quiet calm, but like, a wire buzzing pulled to tight), “Not right now it isn’t, but maybe...
bergamotorange: II I wake up in your bed. I know I have been dreaming. Much earlier, the alarm broke us from each other, you’ve been at your desk for hours. I know what I dreamed: our friend the poet comes into my room where I’ve been writing for days, drafts, carbons, poems are scattered everywhere, and I want to show her one poem which is the poem of my life. But I hesitate, and wake....
We sometimes encounter people, even perfect strangers, who begin to interest us...– Fydor Dostoevsky (via squid81)
Wednesday, like climbing a column of this summer-structure. Sleeping well tonight in this wooden house.
Quick morning something, coffee, bacon, eggs, toast and tomatoes, tallest man on earth, slam poetry and dreams like an episode of SVU because I’m hooked. Not good dream material, though. Today will be pulling in the ferry, and I always kind of dread it, but it’s Tuesday and I need the sun. Today will happen quickly because it’s already the 24th my days flying overhead, sunk...
georgialeerose: “I-love-you belongs neither in the realm of linguistics nor in that of semiology. Its occasion (the point of departure for speaking it) would be, rather, Music. In the manner of what happens in singing, in the proffering of I-love-you, desire is neither repressed (as in what is uttered) nor recognized (where we did not expect it: as in the uttering itself) but simply: released,...