on becoming lion-hearted

licoricewall:

蒼井優 (Yu Aoi)



the ginger fingers henry miller on the L train from brooklyn into manhattan. i see her traipse over anais nin’s dead body in her seven league gladiator mandals, bang on trend, fashionably late. baby if i could take your star sign between my thighs i would ride the tropic of capricorn uptown to school and be on time to present my sorry little treatise on urban alienation. if a redhead agreed to commute in my mouth, let there be no doubt that i would swallow. the insurance ad behind her head asks: who’s caring for you? she rises to alight at sixth avenue. i care. i am right behind her. red is the smell of her shampoo. stand clear of the closing doors, please. if i stuck my tongue out i might taste the autumn in her auburn. i am careful. i am the gap between the train and the platform. i am the dead time between every delay. i am the tropic between cancer and capricorn. i am the difference between the loose change the busker makes and the sacred premium he places on his craft. i am changing trains, but this is the redhead’s destination. she is walking out of my life with a book under her arm. if i could be that book, i would care for you tonight. i swallow. i swallow hard. if you see any unlawful emotional conduct on public transportation, please notify new york city transit or a police officer. the digital subway display says it is three in the afternoon and it is october. i am hopelessly late. bells are ringing. i am beyond caring. anais says to henry: henry it is october but you taste like june.
— Amanda Lee Koe (x)

the ginger fingers henry miller on the L train from brooklyn into manhattan. i see her traipse over anais nin’s dead body in her seven league gladiator mandals, bang on trend, fashionably late. baby if i could take your star sign between my thighs i would ride the tropic of capricorn uptown to school and be on time to present my sorry little treatise on urban alienation. if a redhead agreed to commute in my mouth, let there be no doubt that i would swallow. the insurance ad behind her head asks: who’s caring for you? she rises to alight at sixth avenue. i care. i am right behind her. red is the smell of her shampoo. stand clear of the closing doors, please. if i stuck my tongue out i might taste the autumn in her auburn. i am careful. i am the gap between the train and the platform. i am the dead time between every delay. i am the tropic between cancer and capricorn. i am the difference between the loose change the busker makes and the sacred premium he places on his craft. i am changing trains, but this is the redhead’s destination. she is walking out of my life with a book under her arm. if i could be that book, i would care for you tonight. i swallow. i swallow hard. if you see any unlawful emotional conduct on public transportation, please notify new york city transit or a police officer. the digital subway display says it is three in the afternoon and it is october. i am hopelessly late. bells are ringing. i am beyond caring. anais says to henry: henry it is october but you taste like june.

— Amanda Lee Koe (x)

It’s not that I can’t fall in love. It’s really that I can’t help falling in love with too many things all at once. So, you must understand why I can’t distinguish between what’s platonic and what isn’t, because it’s all too much and not enough at the same time.

— Jack Kerouac 

She was a storehouse of self-deceptions, but she was also perspicacious. Something in her chilled him; her suspiciousness, her grudges, her deceitfulness, the hostile solitude in which she took refuge. But perhaps if he had loved her more, she would have become more open, more expansive, more agreeable. It was a vicious circle: love can’t be served up to order, nor can confidence. Neither one could come first.

Simone de Beauvoir, from The Mandarins 



87-mm:

Singapore by Nguan 

""Singapore" is a portrait of living and longing in the city. The tender and lyrical tone used in the series is intended to mask themes of discombobulation and disconnection. Each picture is meant to seem simultaneously naïve and disquieting, so as to reflect the predicament of an adolescent nation torn between her future and the past." - Nguan 


bollykecks:

paths



Pink again.

Pink again.

Depression is stupid and not a thing that makes me a better writer. One time I went a whole year without writing and I stayed in bed and drank. Fuck your Bukowskisms. I want sunlight and love and running down some street I’ve never been on where it’s warm and cool at the same time and I’m smiling. I want nothing to ever be bad again- and I don’t mean that I want a life free of conflict, I mean that I want a life free of meaningless conflict. Not being able to will oneself to take a shower or leave the house is meaningless. There is nothing to be gained, no lesson to be learned from that kind of life. My heart is stale, my prose is stale. Give me fire if you want to hurt me. Give me something I can taste. There’s nothing romantic or mysterious about where I am. There’s nothing here worth holding onto.

By Joshua Espinoza 

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