“That’s /so/ Miami,”
they say, and immediately
segue to south of relevance;
cook a pig on the hot pavement
in celebration of something no one’s saying:
you’ll never manage to get out of here.
No, really. No matter how many
flights desperately booked,
greyhounds taken defeatedly,
diets laden with lard and swine,
or questions begged of indigestion —
this city is a bag everyone has got
their hands in at the same time,
a bag of stale pork rinds.
(Julie Somoano, Jamaica Plain, MA)
oh god
— Tom Bissell, author of Magic Hours: Essays on Creators and Creation, echoes Ralph Ellison, Jonathan Gottschall, and recent Dutch research. (via explore-blog)
(Source: , via explore-blog)
here’s one you really really actually oughtta listen to all the way through
(please)
..
(for me)
—
Penthesilea by Heinrich von Kleist
(Source: notesandmargins)
wafting waving waffles - something that’ll make your mama smile
(er the best folk song i’ve ever heard) (yes, really)
“Many farcical, illogical, incomprehensible transactions are subsumed by the mania of lust.”
― Philip Roth, Sabbath’s Theater
— John Smith, recounting the experience of his public execution by hanging at Tyburn in 1705. Having been turned off the back of the cart, he dangled for 15 minutes until the crowd began to shout for a reprieve, whereupon he was cut down and taken to a nearby house where he soon recovered (via rossbennett)
why does everyone wish so badly to bring about my death by laughter
