Off that landspit of stony mouth-plugs, Eyes rolled by white sticks, Ears cupping the sea’s incoherences, You house your unnerving head–God-ball, Lens of mercies, Your stooges Plying their wild cells in my keel’s shadow, Pushing by like hearts, Red stigmata at the very center, Riding the rip tide to the neraest point of departure, Dragging their Jesus hair. Did I escape, I...
On the Transience of Human Life
Even as log and log meet for a moment on the mighty ocean, And meeting part again, So are the unions of mortals. *** As the streams of the rivers go on, Nor ever return, So day and night bear every away The life of mortals. From the ‘Mahabharata”
And yet I adore him. I think he’s quite crazy, and with no place or occupation...– Vladimir Nabokov, Ada, or Ardor: A Family Chronicle (via divine-despair)
And just as I fear that I might be going too far out, I glance up and see the purple robes of sky flowing like ribbons into my eyes, into the sea, and into all the edges of the world. I notice the white light from every prayer that is being prayed around the world twinkling within those robes. There, in the starry ocean-sky, I get goose-bumps, some intuitive part of me touched at the nerve endings...
‘I love you,’ she whispered, ‘only you; no one but you. It was you who awoke me...– Kate Chopin, The Awakening (via wrists)
A poem that has been on my mind all day.
neelema: Allen Ginsberg, “An Eastern Ballad” I speak of love that comes to mind: The moon is faithful, although blind; She moves in thought she cannot speak. Perfect care has made her bleak. I never dreamed the sea so deep, The earth so dark; so long my sleep, I have become another child. I wake to see the world go wild.
Discovering sex was like discovering writing. It was powerful in a way I...– Sandra Cisneros, Guadalupe the Sex Goddess (via sociologique)
aceofbrains: They say I’m a beast. And feast on it. When all along I thought that’s what a woman was. They say I’m a bitch. Or witch. I’ve claimed the same and never winced. They say I’m a macha, hell on wheels, viva-la-vulva, fire and brimstone, man-hating, devastating, boogey-woman lesbian. Not necessarily, but I like the compliment. Read More
Of course, of course it’s a rampant epidemic, it’s rampant. In this country,...– Jimmy Santiago Baca (via fuckyeahchicanopower)
He plays the same note he perfected twenty-five years ago, and he acts like he’s...– Albert Murray, on B.B. King. “King of Cats” by Henry Louis Gates (The New Yorker; April 8, 1996) bQ • talk to me baby take 008 (via bluesyqueue)