colporteur.

"There was a time when I watched it happen. Strangers pressed to other strangers in one bed, clothes..."

Fri, 24 May 2013 20:44:52 +1000

“There was a time when I watched it happen.
Strangers pressed to other strangers
in one bed, clothes on, air humid
with the cloying scent of fruit juice
and vodka; none of us
giving into another and yet unwilling to leave the scene
of that possibility,
pretending to sleep, actually sleeping.
Then waking again to slip a hand
over a shoulder, slide a finger
inside the waistband of a skirt; so young
(we are even now still
so young) in that hotel room
turning blue then lighter blue.
We wouldn’t have tried for more:
the kiss, the button; firm, white shape
of an image slipped wholly into the mind,
acted upon, dreamed upon,
filling the thin vessels of the lungs.

Earlier, a film, its forced sounds
of lovemaking. The tension I felt winding
into the muscles of some of the others in the room.
I remember I left for awhile.
We all left for awhile;
even the music was frightening. How
to strip ourselves like that, point
at the places that were wanted, plucked
and peeled; speaking the words, hearing them form us,
the nature of what we were
and could do to each other?
The music, the rocking, the sobbing.
The man called the woman by parts of herself.
Some laughed at this. I remember
I must have been one of them.
In the morning, the hotel room was turning white.
After the long night, hands were slipping
and unslipping, moving over the flattened pillows
as if in hopes something small could still satisfy us.
Someone turned and looked at someone else;
we all heard it. Legs
shifted, sheets slid themselves down waists
or shoulders, tightened again at the necks
of those pretending to sleep as the unblinking sun
crawled in our window.
From another room, coughing,
We all heard it.
Someone looked at someone else.
The room turned white. The air began clearing.”

- “A Pornography”, Paisley Rekdal

bohemea: Babes In Mobland - Vanity Fair by Ellen von Unwerth,...

Fri, 24 May 2013 19:56:28 +1000

bohemea:

Babes In Mobland - Vanity Fair by Ellen von Unwerth, September 2010

"It’s taboo to admit that you’re lonely. You can make jokes about it, of course. You can tell people..."

Fri, 24 May 2013 16:18:00 +1000

“

It’s taboo to admit that you’re lonely. You can make jokes about it, of course. You can tell people that you spend most of your time with Netflix or that you haven’t left the house today and you might not even go outside tomorrow. Ha ha, funny. But rarely do you ever tell people about the true depths of your loneliness, about how you feel more and more alienated from your friends each passing day and you’re not sure how to fix it. It seems like everyone is just better at living than you are.

A part of you knew this was going to happen. Growing up, you just had this feeling that you wouldn’t transition well to adult life, that you’d fall right through the cracks. And look at you now. La di da, it’s happening.

Your mother, your father, your grandparents: they all look at you like you’re some prized jewel and they tell you over and over again just how lucky you are to be young and have your whole life ahead of you. “Getting old ain’t for sissies,” your father tells you wearily.

You wish they’d stop saying these things to you because all it does is fill you with guilt and panic. All it does is remind you of how much you’re not taking advantage of your youth.

You want to kiss all kinds of different people, you want to wake up in a stranger’s bed maybe once or twice just to see if it feels good to feel nothing, you want to have a group of friends that feels like a tribe, a bonafide family. You want to go from one place to the next constantly and have your weekends feel like one long epic day. You want to dance to stupid music in your stupid room and have a nice job that doesn’t get in the way of living your life too much. You want to be less scared, less anxious, and more willing. Because if you’re closed off now, you can only imagine what you’ll be like later.

Every day you vow to change some aspect of your life and every day you fail. At this point, you’re starting to question your own power as a human being. As of right now, your fears have you beat. They’re the ones that are holding your twenties hostage.

Stop thinking that everyone is having more sex than you, that everyone has more friends than you, that everyone out is having more fun than you. Not because it’s not true (it might be!) but because that kind of thinking leaves you frozen. You’ve already spent enough time feeling like you’re stuck, like you’re watching your life fall through you like a fast dissolve and you’re unable to hold on to anything.

I don’t know if you ever get better. I don’t know if a person can just wake up one day and decide to be an active participant in their life. I’d like to think so. I’d like to think that people get better each and every day but that’s not really true. People get worse and it’s their stories that end up getting forgotten because we can’t stand an unhappy ending. The sick have to get better. Our normalcy depends upon it.

You have to value yourself. You have to want great things for your life. This sort of shit doesn’t happen overnight but it can and will happen if you want it.

Do you want it bad enough? Does the fear of being filled with regret in your thirties trump your fear of living today?

We shall see.

”

- You’re Not Making The Most Of Your 20s by Ryan O’Connell

are any of you guys on GoodReads? I’ve recently made a new account in an attempt to actually...

Thu, 23 May 2013 22:19:39 +1000

are any of you guys on GoodReads? I’ve recently made a new account in an attempt to actually start reading recreationally more this year, and enjoying it. Link me to you? Question mark ends here?

Can You

Thu, 23 May 2013 20:53:33 +1000

by Christian Barter

Can you love the dawn and hate the day? I do.
“Addicted to the beginnings of relationships,”
as I’ve been told. And told. And told. The new
light looks as something else when it first hits,
something more like Catherine standing up
across a strangered room, that promising look
she had before the promises, still stuck
with sweetness to her face in my notebook
of pre-day ecstasies. I love the feel
of gray seeping into black-what it represents:
the casting-out that could occur-and the real,
truant world opening, before it grows dense
with light and the need for endings, setting free
that inkling some lasting love might come to me.

humansofnewyork: Neat moment at the Webbys last night. Fresh...

Thu, 23 May 2013 20:30:50 +1000

humansofnewyork:

Neat moment at the Webbys last night. Fresh off the $1.1 billion sale of his company, David Karp was there with his mother, Barbara. Though I’d never met her before, Barbara came over to my seat and gave me the world’s biggest hug. She kept saying: “I am so, so proud of you.”
I said to David: “Your mom just made me feel like the most special guy in the world.”
He said: “That’s how she’s made me feel my whole life.”

I'm writing on behalf of Aaron X, UK based singer/songwriter and recording artist, who is set to release his debut track, ‘Blast’. Our team recently came across your blog and we really like the music you are posting about! We thought you may be interested in Aaron X's music too. We're asking for you to kindly post this video on your blog as we'd love to have you support the project. Please do reply for the video, music and more info. We cannot post links here. Thanks!

Thu, 23 May 2013 17:50:05 +1000

the thirst is strong

the struggle is real

X marks the spot

"Let me keep my distance, always, from those who think they have the answers. Let me keep company..."

Thu, 23 May 2013 14:37:27 +1000

“

Let me keep my distance, always, from those
who think they have the answers.

Let me keep company always with those who say
“Look!” and laugh in astonishment,
and bow their heads.

”

- Mary Oliver, from “Mysteries, Yes” in Evidence

Audio

Thu, 23 May 2013 13:33:39 +1000

"Don’t ask me about his lips. How they ruby and burn. Stretch full over white teeth, taut like a..."

Thu, 23 May 2013 12:14:21 +1000

“

Don’t ask me about his lips. How they ruby and burn. Stretch full over white teeth, taut like a drum. I want him to make music of me.

Don’t ask me about his hands. The way they are scarred with stories. How they slide thick down his legs as I stare. Mouth cotton; eyes hungry.

Don’t ask me about my hunger. The way my stomach drops tight when he looks at me. The way my palms itch for his bones. Don’t ask me about my fear. The way he comes to me.

How I open my mouth to say “Yes” and it comes out “I’m sorry.”

”

- Clementine von Radics, His Lips

Crispy pork and white bean salad

Thu, 23 May 2013 12:03:55 +1000

Crispy pork and white bean salad

#3

Thu, 23 May 2013 11:39:30 +1000

diasporicdecay:

English is a language with no passion. They told me that English held value but I realized that in the bedroom that it’s more erotic to make love with someone else in their language. My skin is black but I am speaking a white man’s language so stop using it in the most intimate moments of my life.

—

I want a lover who can say my full name right. Preserve my history in your mouth. Cherish it like gold and don’t let it rust. Don’t damage it by changing it to your liking. I don’t want to fall in love with people with lazy tongues anymore.

—

I want to learn the geography that is your body. I want to learn all the scars and their stories. I know your body is displaced as you live in the diaspora because you have been talking about Mombasa all morning long.

—

Your culture is who you are and English diminishes it. I want a lover who grew up loving the sun and had a love for mango juice. We live in a country that doesn’t belong to us and we don’t belong it. So I’m going to make love with you tonight in your language to make you feel like you are back home again.

jungjoo: Rosa Luxemburg’s love letter to Leo Jogisches: I sense that every word concerning the...

Thu, 23 May 2013 11:21:48 +1000

jungjoo:

Rosa Luxemburg’s love letter to Leo Jogisches:

I sense that every word concerning the most stupid business is twice, no ten, a hundred times more interesting to you than my pouring out my whole heart to you. Mention the [Polish Socialist Party], and your eyes light up. Write about myself, that I’m tired, that I miss you, and it’s quite different.

Well, I’m going to be strict! I mean it. I’ve been thinking about our relationship, and once I’m back I’ll take you so firmly in hand that you’ll squeal. Just wait and see! I’m going to terrorize you mercilessly. You must humble yourself, give in, bend, if our relationship is to continue. I must break you, tame you, or I won’t put up with you any longer. You’re an angry man, and, having finally figured you out, I’m as sure of it as that night follows day. I’ll wipe that anger out of you, so help me God. I’ve the right to do it because I’m ten times better than you, and because I’m aware of it, I’ve all the more right to condemn this trait in you. I’ll terrorize you without pity until you soften and have feelings and treat other people as any simple, decent man would.I love you above anything else in the world and at the same time have no mercy for your faults. So remember and watch out! I’ve gotten myself a rug beater and will start to beat you the minute I get home.

I know all this doesn’t make much sense to you, but I’ll explain when I see you. To start my reign of terror - remember, be good! Write tender, good letters, have a little humility, deign to tell me that you love me. Don’t be afraid of humiliating yourself. You gave me three cents’ worth more love today than I gave you yesterday. So what? Don’t be afraid and ashamed to show your feelings out of fear that I won’t be responsive enough. That is, if you have feelings. If you don’t, I can’t force anything. Learn to kneel spiritually, not only when I call you with open arms but also when I turn my back on you.In brief, be generous, lavish, squander your love on me. I demand it! Unfortunately your constant company is ruining my character, but this makes me even more eager to fight you. Remember, you must surrender because the might of my love will conquer you anyhow. My own, keep well, I hold you in my arms and cover you with kisses.

It's Shaped Like A Fork

Wed, 22 May 2013 23:58:10 +1000

by Olena Kalytiak Davis

This house is a mess. Full
of solid notions
that keep turning into objects:
this simple sadness
that’s shaped like a fork
and the vague fear that crusts
these dishes. I’m vacuuming
over this grass-like pain.
Emptying pockets for the wash:
such a burden: not just wrappers
but keys and mints, those sticky
and sorrow-coated stones.
And this larger grief
that always needs to be folded.

All day I’ve been chewing
on my own acrid gloom,
trying to put away
the things you keep carrying
home from work: the possessions
of children and women
and drunks, stolen or cheated,
the tasteless unhappiness
of others into jars labeled:
Heartbreak, Injustice,
Just-Plain-Bad-Fucking-Luck.

Photo

Wed, 22 May 2013 23:38:35 +1000

"Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is as if I had words instead of fingers,..."

Wed, 22 May 2013 17:13:58 +1000

“Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is as if I had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. My language trembles with desire. The emotion derives from a double contact: on the one hand, a whole activity of discourse discreetly, indirectly focuses upon a single signified, which is “I desire you,” and releases, nourishes, ramifies it to the point of explosion (language experiences orgasm upon touching itself); on the other hand, I enwrap the other in my words, I caress, brush against, talk up this contact, I extend myself to make the commentary to which I submit the relation endure.”

- Roland Barthes (via ledelorean)

Audio

Wed, 22 May 2013 17:11:10 +1000

"Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it is worth the trouble? Look at the sky: that is..."

Wed, 22 May 2013 16:55:07 +1000

“Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it is worth the trouble? Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person’s face as you pass on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing. Stand up and face the east. Now praise the sky and praise the light within each person under the sky. It’s okay to be unsure. But praise, praise, praise.”

- Miranda July, The Shared Patio

Photo

Tue, 21 May 2013 23:03:44 +1000

I have had eight blood noses and three anxiety attacks in the last 10 days over my new university...

Tue, 21 May 2013 22:35:35 +1000

I have had eight blood noses and three anxiety attacks in the last 10 days over my new university application. I just need someone to literally sit down with a cup of tea, not be afraid of my emotions, stop me from making excuses, and work through every segment with me. I’ve tried starting my application three times today and have burst into tears every time my pen hits the page. I am frightened that this course is going to be a mistake like the last four years have been, and that I’m going to confuse my romantic idealism of university as a perfect environment, rather than a competitive industry for a JOB and a CAREER that demands independence and discipline that I struggle to grasp and keep up with. I need someone to let me be selfish and tell me that I am a smart person who is doing something that she will genuinely enjoy and excel at for ____ and ____ reasons. I need this, and I am too weak to be able to do it on my own.

I can’t ask anyone, because I’m too proud, because I’m afraid of being a failure. Again. And especially because I know that those closest to me are fighting battles on their own each and every day, and I am so worried that if I appear weak then they won’t think I can help them; that they will all think that I genuinely can’t help myself.

So few people seem to genuinely understand and empathise that the expectation of knowing and becoming what you ‘want to be when you grow up’ before the age of ~28 is something that literally terrifies me. I had a dream about my parents throwing me out, a dream about being fired from my favourite job, a dream about arguing over someone while in a car. And all three times I’ve woken up with my head in a spin and blood pouring down my chin.

The wonderful, hardworking and genuinely brilliant friends and acquaintances that do have the fear distilled inside them are performing beyond what I could ever dream. I no longer think that I am dumb, I only think that perhaps I’ve lacked the potential and need to wake up to what I can and can’t do. And I don’t know if I can do this without someone’s help.

I have always been a lazy girl who’s work ethic has been shaky at the best of times- until a few weeks ago I actually believed it was better not to try at all, rather than try and face a mark that proved my intellectual and creative fears. There is literally only one course for this. One. One answer, one way out. And now I’m so paralysed that all I have managed to achieve is writing my date of birth and titling ‘Why I am applying for ______.’

I’m petrified of writing why, because it’ll mean I’ll want something again. And if I want something again, it means there is a possibility of not being good enough, or having it taken away again. I don’t know what I am supposed to do. Not caring about anything or anyone has always been the easiest route but it has been so hard on my ambition and aspiration, and I don’t know how to not want to feel numb anymore.