look here - what if I love you?

Just curious, on tumblr how do you actually credit people with a link, or reblog it onto your tumblr?

I discovered this website called goodreads.com. If you've never heard of it, it's definitely worth a look. You can vote on books, store the books you've read, and say what you are currently reading. You can also join groups where books are suggested and discussed.

Until we can understand the assumptions in which we are drenched we cannot know ourselves. -Adrienne Rich, "When We Dead Awaken: Writing as Re-vision."

Do you think they place we live has any contributing factor in defining who we are?

It’s easy to live through,

But hard to bury-

Something akin to a long drive

Down a darkened road,

Slits of rain in front of the window

Ignited like fireflies by the glare

Of the headlights. The moments of

Silence that fill the car at 3am

With those life-altering thoughts

Which can’t be forgotten or

Erased. The squeal of tires,

Burned rubber and torn flesh,

Brown fur clinging to plastic

And metal, like a surgical scene

With the doctor washing his hands-

All is done and nothing saved.

The animal is in the middle of

The street, life already gone

And there’s nothing you can do

About it.

It’s the only thing you can’t prepare

For – this life we live, it surprises you,

Like that deer on the rainy car ride or

The argument you had with your mother

Before you left her house to venture out

Onto that long and treacherous road,

Where you would collide with flesh and

Reality, realizing that the world can’t save you

When you are barreling down snaking

Lanes and that deer steps in front of you.

Brake.

But, it didn’t matter.

It’s always too late.

One of those fucking awful black days when nothing is pleasing and everything that happens is an excuse for anger. An outlet for emotions stockpiled, an arsenal, an armour. These are the days when I hate the world, hate the rich, hate the happy, hate the complacent, the TV watchers, beer drinkers, the satisfied ones. Because I know I can be all of those little hateful things and then I hate myself for realising that. There's no preventative, directive or safe approach for living. We each know our own fate. We know from our youth how to be treated, how we'll be received, how we shall end. These things don't change. You can change your clothes, change your hairstyle, your friends, cities, continents but sooner or later your own self will always catch up. Always it waits in the wings. Ideas swirl but don't stick. They appear but then run off like rain on the windshield. One of those rainy day car rides my head implodes, the atmosphere in this car a mirror of my skull. Wet, damp, windows dripping and misted with cold. Walls of grey. Nothing good on the radio. Not a thought in my head.

Lets take life and slow it down incredibly slow, frame by frame with two minutes that take ten years to live out. Yeah, lets do that.

Telephone poles like praying mantras against the sky, metal arms outstretched. So much land travelled so little sense made of it. It doesn't mean a thing all this land laid out behind us. I'd like to take off into these woods and get good and lost for a while. I'm disgusted with petty concerns; parking tickets, breakfast specials. Does someone just have to carry this weight? Abstract typography, methane inconvenience, linear gospel, Nashville sales lady, and torturous lice, mad Elizabeth. Chemotherapy bullshit.

The light within you shines like a diamond mine, like an unarmed walrus, like a dead man face down on the highway. Like a snake eating its own tail, steam turbine, frog farm, two full closets burst open in disarray, soap bubbles in the sun, hospital death bed, red convertible, shopping list, blowjob, deaths head, devils dancing, bleached white buildings, memories, movements, the movie unfeeling, unreeling, about to begin.

I've seen your hallway, you're a darn call away, I've hear your stairs creak. I can fix my mind on your yes, and on your no. I'll film you face today in the sparkling canals, all red, yellow, blue, green brilliance and silver Dutch reflection. Racing thoughts, racing thoughts. All too real, you're moving so fast now I cant hold your image. This image I have of your face by the window, me standing beside you arm on your shoulder. A catalogue of images, flashing glimpses then gone again.

Every clear afternoon now I'll picture you up in the air twisting your heel, your knees up around me, my face in your hair. You scream so well, your smile so loud it still rings in my ears.

Imitation. Distant, tired of longing. Clean white teeth. Stay the course. Hold the wheel. Steer on to freedom. Open all the boxes.

Open all the boxes.

- "Be Safe" by The Cribs

( Listen to it )

 For An Album
- Adrienne Rich

Our story isn't a file of photographs
faces laughing under green leaves
or snowlit doorways, on the verge of driving
away, our story is not about women
victoriously perched on the one
sunny day of the conference,
nor lovers displaying love:

Our story is of moments
when even slow motion moved too fast
for the shutter of the camera:
words that blew our lives apart, like so,
eyes that cut and caught each other,
mime of the operating room
where gas and knives quote each other
moments before the telephone
starts ringing: our story is
how still we stood,
how fast.

 "Dip your pen into your arteries and write." -William Allen White