a mock up for a new project, inspired by this.
2 days ago on May 19, 2013 at 09:59pm
You have my permission not to love me;
I am a cathedral of deadbolts
and I’d rather burn myself down
than change the locks.
i am not your rest stop.
i am not your rest stop.
i am not your rest stop.
you forget i’m lonely, too —it hurts more to see you travel
than it does to watch you leave.
if you hesitate to kiss a girl after she sucked your stuff up you need to put your clothes on and go home because you’re a child
(via cuntlery)
1 week ago on May 15, 2013 at 12:03am
morning after
thoughts about the impermanence of a hook up written in permanent marker in the places he touched
by Lindsay Bottos
(via cuntlery)
I took a 7 week coast to coast road trip after being laid off from Boeing. I didn’t have a camper but realized that being able to pull off the road at a rest or truck stop was the way to go to make the trip affordable. With a few sheets of 1/2” plywood and misc. hardware this is what I came up with. The effort was well worth the time and materials.
(via cuntlery)
I once dated a writer and
Writers are forgetful,
but they remember everything.
They forget appointments and anniversaries,
but remember what you wore,
how you smelled,
on your first date…
They remember every story you’ve ever told them -
like ever,
but forget what you’ve just said.
They don’t remember to water the plants
or take out the trash,
but they don’t forget how
to make you laugh.
Writers are forgetful
because
they’re busy
remembering
the important things.
(via dropstitch)
Leaving is not enough. You must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.
1 week ago on May 13, 2013 at 09:45pm
the loneliest things in this world
have never been named— the blister on your foot
the day you buried your father,
and your good heels split in the mud, or
the final report papercut circling your thumb
like a ring— never kissed—
and behind your ear, that scar from the bumblebee
at the summer picnic who made you cry
until mom had to drive you home. there are no names
for these purple hurts, a forgotten ocean of them
bleached, collected, and sealed into bone-tight
compartments so that no one will know them, not even you
until a winter nosebleed or rain slick puddle
bring them rushing back, like all your pet rats
and canaries and frozen guinea pigs in the backyard, surrounded
by dirt and worms— just wanting to be named. just wanting
to be held.
1 week ago on May 13, 2013 at 09:23pm
number 12 oh my goodness
(via goldenbeards)
Things I would have never thought possible that happened today
1. I did something funny with a man I hardly know.
2. I couldn’t even finish half of a cookout shake that I bought myself
3. I gave my résumé to a coffeeshop
2 weeks ago on May 06, 2013 at 10:51pm
