lie/die/cry

i made my bed i'll _____ in it

Style Crush: meg ryan, addicted to love

Kate Nash

 "Yes, I'm a feminist. I think everybody should be, because feminism is about equality of the sexes, which we all believe in, don't we?"

[daintysquidtumblr]

ps.

i saw the kids are all right last night 

(it's only playing in one theater in chicago)

and absolutely loved it.

best movie of the summer, 

if not the whole year.

i want this staircase.

[gizmodo]

 

[stuff no one told me]

my idea of fun? 

reading david sedaris in the park.

there's no one here to save

delicious ambiguity

some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle, and end.  life is about not knowing, having to change, taking the moment and making the best of it, without knowing what's going to happen next.

delicious ambiguity,

gilda radner

just do it

i've got tattoo fever

[fuck yeah tattoos]

Can I Live Here Please?

king of the wild things

[tattoologist]

Fucking Rock n Roll

Mad Girl's Love Song

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

a villanelle by sylvia plath 

shake it like a poladroid picture

[poladroid]

jesus horses

I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.

Fom the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked.  One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn't quite make out.

I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn't make up my mind which of the figs I would choose.  I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet. [the bell jar]

[flickr]