Most days, I think, are chocolate drops
But today is a rehydrated raisin—
Skin unused to water.
Wrinkles unsure of how to react.
Alex learned to count today.
We counted toys, birds, markers,
Freckles on my left arm.
Everywhere we went, he kept counting.
Three, four, five clouds
Six, seven, eight homeless men
begging for change in the subway.
His world was became, suddenly,
counted, numbered— knowable
Someday, though, he will learn.
Between one and two there is
a world, and
once you get past infinity,
all is pure, beautiful,
Didn’t come when I called you.
Didn’t hide your cum-stained sock when I entered your room
(left it out in the middle of the floor).
Didn’t introduce me to your mother.
Didn’t ever (ever!) show up on time.
I could handle it.
I loved you (all of you!)—
Your crazy maniacal shimmering smile.
When you wake up tomorrow, I’ll be on my way.
But don’t think twice, my friend.
It’s water under the bridge, my friend.
Whatever I did to you—
Whatever you did to me—
It’s all right.
"We grew up with the Internet and on the Internet. This is what makes us different; this is what makes the crucial, although surprising from your point of view, difference: we do not ‘surf’ and the internet to us is not a ‘place’ or ‘virtual space’. The Internet to us is not something external to reality but a part of it: an invisible yet constantly present layer intertwined with the physical environment. We do not use the Internet, we live on the Internet and along it. If we were to tell our bildnungsroman to you, the analog, we could say there was a natural Internet aspect to every single experience that has shaped us. We made friends and enemies online, we prepared cribs for tests online, we planned parties and studying sessions online, we fell in love and broke up online. The Web to us is not a technology which we had to learn and which we managed to get a grip of. The Web is a process, happening continuously and continuously transforming before our eyes; with us and through us. Technologies appear and then dissolve in the peripheries, websites are built, they bloom and then pass away, but the Web continues, because we are the Web; we, communicating with one another in a way that comes naturally to us, more intense and more efficient than ever before in the history of mankind."
— Piotr Czerski (via wasarahbi)
"The fact that someone else loves you doesn’t rescue you from the project of loving yourself."
— Sahaj Kohli (via homemayde)
(Source: mirrormirrorbeautyiswithin, via homemayde)
Nothing startles like a summer passion
For the sun, the beach, the woods, a man;
But winter’s cold, forgotten, now does fashion
Hearts to chalk, and so we must aban-
-don mere affections. Crisper winds reside
In roots, in throats, in leaves, in lungs.
Breathless, try to keep the heat shut deep inside
And stone by stone, like mountains, come undone.
From this treetop, all I see
Is love and hope and stars and he.
"These are the days that must happen to you."
— Walt Whitman (via thatkindofwoman)
(Source: larmoyante, via funkademic)