"if it’s true
that bone is harder than steel, make me
a building, a garden of calcium
and mineral in bloom, deadbolt
of a spine, you coming home whole,
the apartment of my head on your bulletless
chest"
- Marty McConnell (via arabellesicardi)
"For each person there is a sentence—a series of words—which has the power to destroy them."
- Philip K. Dick (via asdfghjkllove)
"I’d rather be in the mountains thinking of God than in church thinking about the mountains."
- John Muir (via oofpoetry)

orgasmiclyindie:

Ben Kweller - How It Should Be (Sha Sha)

"Some days in late August at home are like this, the air thin and eager like this, with something in it sad and nostalgic and familiar…"
-  William Faulkner, The Sound and the Fury (via loveage-moondream)
Same Grape, Different Name by Peter Erich

On this scenic route you will likely encounter a handful of bicycle spoke lobster traps. You can choose your prisoner. The one in the Easter egg-colored polo, he is your guy. 

The teeth on this man are mineral-laced, dark spotted, and ground into pinnacles. His cheeks are hydrangea shrubs. He ripens to you. He reaches out his buttery hands and they melt. His fingers hang on the wiring. He is reminded, and it was no secret, that there is no escape. 

Hop off your bicycle and walk over to him. This is the conversation piece you need. Take him home to your wife, who is baking apples for both smell and flavor. He is bone dry. Share your Pinot Blanc with him. 

Tomorrow bring him back to the curb and leave him with the photographs, canceled checks, White House invitations, Christmas cards, love letters, floppy disks, a Mickey Mouse flip book, a pair of brown tasseled loafers, and the other discarded grapes.

I think the sweetened versions of things are completely worthless. 

Life is a bit heavier than we can hold, yet it does not clobber us. Is it an uneasy path? Yes, but still a path. 

If you asked me, am I caged and on display? I would say, yes, at some point, yes, we all are.

[Lines borrowed from - White Wine Basics from Wine Magazine and The Man Who Made Off With John Updike’s Trash from The Atlantic]

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