February 2012
"Oh, fuck you Betty White!"
-Dave
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I just ran to the library printed out an essay and made it to class with 5 minutes to spare. #Winning
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“What good is a writer if he can’t destroy literature? And us… what good are we...”
– Julio Cortázar (via confessionalpoet)
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I just want to drop out of school, take all of my college money and savings, get an apartment in the city. Write poetry and drink black coffee and just take a year to get my shit together because honestly I have no idea what kind of of person I am anymore.
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That moment when you finish a book, look around, and realize that everyone is just carrying on with their lives as though you didn’t just experience emotional trauma at the hands of a paperback.
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Anonymous asked: Who are your best friends?
Anonymous asked: Is there someone you miss?
Ask me things. My mind is racing. I need a... →
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Emily: Take me back- up the hill- to my grave. But first: Wait! One more look! ...Goodbye! Goodbye, world! Goodbye, Grover's Corners- Mama and Papa- Goodbye to clocks ticking- and my butternut tree! and Mama's sunflowers- and food and coffee- and new-ironed dresses and hot baths- and sleeping and waking up!- Oh, earth, you're too wonderful for anyone to realize you! ...Do any human beings ever realize life while they live it-every, every minute?
Stage Manager: No- Saints and poets maybe- they do some.
Emily: ...I'm ready to go back.
“If I must die I will encounter darkness as a bride,
And hug it in mine arms.”
– William Shakespeare
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Random Facts No One Cares About:
I’ve eaten like 3 slices of cheesey bread in the last hour and have no intents of getting out of bed all day. Also, I have a dream that I will watch all of Parks and Rec in the next 24 hours. ALL OF IT.
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I love my poetry class so dearly. Even in the midst of writing a very pointless paper I can smile because I get to write it about Sylvia Plath. What is not to love?
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“But I will love you with all my weird might
For as long as the day will allow....”
– Derrick Brown (via mariahmurphy)
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“The way your breath formed icicles while you talked about your past made me want to write fairy tales. Coming out of my comfort though, I settled for sketching illustrations on your chest. Maybe my old ways are dead. Maybe you are different from the rest.
-B.E.Fitzgerald