“if i live long enough i’m going to have to go to a place and buy a plot of land where i want them to bury my body. that’s a conversation i’m seriously going to have to live through. some guy is going to hand me a pamphlet with price ranges and i’m going to have to think about it and be like, “yes, this physical area of the ground is where i want you to put me.” if you had a time machine with a viewfinder you’d be able to see me ordering a burger at mcdonalds and then jump to me using that same face and voice to negotiate my final resting place.”—
“I don’t love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:
I love you as certain dark things are loved,
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.
I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom and carries
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,
I love you simply, without problems or pride:
I love you in this way because I don’t know any other way of loving
but this, in which there is no I or you,
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.”—Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets,Sonnet XVII, 1960 (via bookmania)
I read your 'Go after her. Fuck, don't sit there and wait...' post. There's a girl I like. She might like me. I have been 'waiting for a sign' but I really want to tell her that I like her, but I am literally the worlds worst person when it comes to doing stuff like this. Any suggestions? In an ideal world how would you like someone who had a crush on you to tell you?
This is actually really hard, when you think about it, especially not knowing your relationship to the girl. Are you already friends? Coworkers? Do you want to be her boyfriend, or just morethanfriends?
I think the best way is probably not to say anything at all, at least not in the straight forward way that you imply. Usually, if the feeling is mutual, making a move or sticking around after a night out with a group of friends will do the trick. Offer to split a cab. Ask her to see the movie you both keep saying you have to see sometime. Be a little aggressive. Be brave. Pay her a goddamn compliment. Making fun of a girl is not the same thing.
In an ideal world, we’d go out for drinks as friends - somewhere casual, not too loud. Before either of us had too much to drink, he’d tell me he thinks I’m awesome and suggest we see more of each other. Nothing too serious or sudden, and it gives her an easy out if she doesn’t feel the same (vague future plans are easy to agree to).
Don’t confess your love. Don’t tell her how long you’ve been holding this in. You can wait until at least the 4th date for that stuff. Just keep calm and carry on. Take that girl out and make her laugh. Make HER confess her crush.
“Go after her. Fuck, don’t sit there and wait for her to call, go after her because that’s what you should do if you love someone, don’t wait for them to give you a sign cause it might never come, don’t let people happen to you, don’t let me happen to you, or her, she’s not a fucking television show or tornado. There are people I might have loved had they gotten on the airplane or run down the street after me or called me up drunk at four in the morning because they need to tell me right now and because they cannot regret this.”—Harvey Milk (via cite-belle)
“A real education takes place, not in the lecture hall or library, but in the rooms of friends, with earnest frolic and happy disputation. Wine can be a wiser teacher than ink, and banter better than books.”—Stephen Fry (via sorakeem)
Oh, you know, just spending the morning before work washing my hands with bleach to get out the words “Fuck You” that I scribbled with a pen on my fingers after two glasses of wine at an East Village bar last night.
You know, the bar we went to before we took instagram pictures of ourselves in an abandoned shopping cart on the street. (Does that still count as twee?)
You know, the pictures we took before we met the nice men on the sidewalk who offered to escort us to their apartment and ply us with cocaine, which I’ll have you know I politely declined by explaining “we’re too poor for coke” (even though they probably would have given it to us).
“I have a form of attention deficit disorder. I like to pay attention only to things I want to pay attention to, and cleaning my apartment does not fall into that category. Thus, I live like the Unabomber, but without his sense of purpose. I have, of course, made attempts every now and then to straighten up, but I approach it in the same manner as my taxes — something to be done only once a year, while screaming in confused agony like a cat in heat.”—
“She did not want to go to work, although she was very late; and so she remained in bed. She was empty and she could not bear being empty and covering the space she felt with clothes and walking streets crowded with fuller people, people going someplace important to them and doing things essential to them in these places, and then returning, much later in the evening, to better places to meet the valued persons who were the very reason for their coming and going and living each day just for the end of it. She had none of these things and did not want to be near people who felt something more than the nullity she knew was within her.”— James Alan McPherson, Hue and Cry (via underthechinaberrytree)
Been thinking about cleaning up this space. Clearing out the clutter, leaving only my writing, and maybe the best quotes. I don’t know if I’m ready to get rid of it all though - the pretty pictures, the meaningless images. I don’t know how my words would react to the loneliness. I’ve been getting an idea to start fresh, but my sentimental side always wins out.
I guess I always liked that I could have all of me here - all of the things that made me tick from month to month. The clothes I liked. My tears and tirades. Things borrowed and stolen and born.
This blog is my home base. My bedroom. It is the click of my nails on keys, saying oh this one! This is mine now. Let me show and tell you all about it.
My love for this song is all wound up in that scene from Pleasantville and a remembered intermission at a performance at my high school and my sudden, intense desire to slip on something swishy and petticoated and let a man put his hands firmly on my hips.
Since I've Been Single - A Post-Valentine's Day Retrospective
I have been technically single for a little less than six months now. In that period of time:
I have been propositioned for a threesome with my best friend.
Two different men who were “working on their novels” stopped calling me back.
I discovered that meeting for drinks is always preferable to meeting for coffee.
A hipster that I thought seemed like a “really nice guy” suggested we have sex in the bathroom of a Williamsburg bar.
I have used the phrase “let’s just be friends.” In a text message.
I have discussed the practice, politics, and etiquette of oral sex, polyamory, and open marriages ad nauseum with friends.
I brought a flask on a first date, and used it.
I’ve said “I just want to be alone right now” and meant it for at least 36 consecutive hours.
Dating and hooking up and going out and meeting up and texting and gchat and dance floors and goodbye hugs and my bed or yours and vegans and writers and concerts and kissing and dear god it’s so different than I thought it was all going to be.
Don’t we all just want to be excited about something?
I would like to make an enquiry regarding Valentine benefits, incentives, etc. before I consider applying. A gentleman has to invest his time wisely, after all.
Answer in retrospect, based on last night’s events: someone to take you to basement bar with a disco ball and 90s hip hop blaring, get drunk with you, dance like crazy until you’re sweaty, probably challenge you to a dance off, then give you her sweatshirt and the $11 in her wallet when your coat and money get stolen. I’ll also buy you whatever you want at a 24 hour diner and walk you to the subway at 5 AM?