February 2012
59 posts
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The New York Times just launched a new Tumblr...
…and it’s really fantastic. Follow: livelymorgue.tumblr.com
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Some overgenerlizations about life that should be...
love
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Vain
This poem
is not
about
you.
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“Part of the reason war correspondents keep going is that there is thrill in...”
– Why we really need conflict journalism: In Praise of War Correspondents
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Ulterior Motives
Do we need excuses,
to see one other?
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Betrayal
Made him come, then let the knife
sink
deeper.
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Adultery
You couldn’t find anyone better
than me?
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Intrigue
All part of the ‘infatuation.’
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The Elixir of Life
Coffee:
why, hello.
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Drag Queens
Better women
than the
rest of
us.
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Love Affair with Words
Really,
It’s just cause -
I get nervous
around you.
Not because
I’m eloquent.
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At the end of the night, the pairing offs
And you
And you
And you
And you
And us.
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“Don’t patronize me.”
– I Can’t Make You Love Me
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Some overgeneralizations about life that should be...
That you need him to make the first move. That you need her to make the first move. Just fucking do it.
That music has to be a solitary experience. Remember the word, ‘symphony’?
That cursing is unladylike. (Audrey Hepburn loved the word ‘shit.’)
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The phrase, "I was just thinking about you"
is a great thing to say and to receive.
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do you have nice teeth
then I will kiss you
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Forgot to mention, I am quite indeed on Twitter.
www.twitter.com/aprilmayparker
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Some overgeneralizations about life that should be...
That we are alone. False: I have you, you have her, she has him, he has them. They have us.
That there is never enough free time. If you think that, then you need to meet this dude.
That life after postgrad is no life.
That being forward, is not the same as being honest.
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Cunt.
When one woman calls another a ‘cunt,’
You think: ‘damn,’ is she an
unclassy bitch.
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The 3-words
When he slammed the door I forgot whether it was, love or hate that proceeded
‘you.’
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Damaged Goods:
are still,
goods.
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“Glamour is constructed, elegance is acquired, and charm is innate. For that...”
– On Elegance by Lauren Cerand
He stammered. I smiled.
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“Hands down, I’m too proud for love.”
– Little Bit by Lykke Li
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“Footloose and handsome, he was a flesh-and-blood character out of Graham Greene,...”
– This is how obituaries should be written: The New York Times obituary on John Fairfax
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Passive Aggressive
Babe, I can tell.
(It’s in the wrinkles).
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Sadists
We do it to ourselves because we feel nothing.
And do it to others, to feel something.
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“It’s just nuts. I feel like no one there is telling the truth now. We have...”
– What the late Anthony Shadid wrote to his NYTimes editors before sneaking into Syria to cover the civil war, and dying there.
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WatchSuper adorable preschoolers talking about love, via The NewsHouse
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“Is he worth a damn?
I believe so.”
– Royal, to Richie | The Royal Tenenbaums
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Portrait Number Five: Against A New York Summer by...
I’d walk her home after work buying roses and talking of Bechsteins. She was full of soul. Her small room was gorged with heat and there were no windows. She’d take off everything but her pants and take the pins from her hair throwing them on the floor with a great noise. Like Crete. We wouldn’t make love. She’d get on the bed with those nipples and we’d...
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slow, down.
I keep forgetting to slow, down. To not feel the need to rush to class, to wake up just a bit earlier during the day and just…sit. Not think, not ‘do,’ not anything. Light a candle, smell the scent and just ‘be.’ Sometimes you need those days; unwind and decompress, decompress and unwind. I keep telling myself to slow, down, even when the inevitability of ‘time...
Poetry 365: Failing and Flying, Jack Gilbert →
“everyone forgets that Icarus also flew…”
poetry365:
Everyone forgets that Icarus also flew. It’s the same when love comes to an end, or the marriage fails and people say they knew it was a mistake, that everybody said it would never work. That she was old enough to know better. But anything worth doing is worth doing badly. Like being there…
“There is something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more...”
– Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar (via bookssay)
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No, yes, maybe.
no job no career yes love yes man maybe, a life.