To seek and suck what yields A sweet and wholsom Sap;
Here She loves to tarry, and that Juice to carry Into her HIVE.
Thus Let us strive to Imitate the same, Accounting it a Shame
If we should fail to gather some good things for our Reader."
-from the commonplace book of Francis Daniel Pastorius
Quote reblogged from grammatolatry with 64 notes
Somewhere in everyone’s head something points toward home,
a dashboard’s floating compass, turning all the time
to keep from turning. It doesn’t matter how we come
to be wherever we are, someplace where nothing goes
the way it went once, where nothing holds fast
to where it belongs, or what you’ve risen or fallen to.What the bubble always points to,
whether we notice it or not, is home.
It may be true that if you move fast
everything fades away, that given time
and noise enough, every memory goes
into the blackness, and if new ones come-small, mole-like memories that come
to live in the furry dark-they, too,
curl up and die. But Carol goes
to high school now. John works at home
what days he can to spend some time
with Sue and the kids. He drives too fast.Ellen won’t eat her breakfast.
Your sister was going to come
but didn’t have the time.
Some mornings at one or two
or three I want you home
a lot, but then it goes.It all goes.
Hold on fast
to thoughts of home
when they come.
They’re going to
less with time.Time
goes
too
fast.
Come
home.Forgive me that. One time it wasn’t fast.
A myth goes that when the years come
then you will, too. Me, I’ll still be home.
Source: grammatolatry
Quote reblogged from grammatolatry with 85 notes
You must make this mistake once—
pour boiling liquid into a blender, then pulse it.
Watch the steam blow the lid straight off.
When you see your burned hands, you’ll scream.
Other mistakes you repeat, finding yourself
in a familiar place, but worn out, like pigeons
circling a roof, the flock growing bigger,
then smaller. It will be this way with love.
Your neighbor plays something on the accordion,
starting and stopping before seeing it through,
but it’s not what you expected. It’s not even
about getting it right. You think it’s about
protecting yourself, and eventually you will—
not by learning how to love, but how to do so less often.
Source: grammatolatry
Post with 4 notes
People watching in rittenhouse square has led me to the following potential blog ideas :
Rich ladies with dogs in rittenhouse square
Weird couples in rittenhouse square
Awkward social interactions in rittenhouse square
Cute children in rittenhouse square
Random people I kind of know in rittenhouse square
Post reblogged from tell me if this is all true with 3 notes
Small Prayer
Change, move, dead clock, that this fresh day
May break with dazzling light to these sick eyes.
Burn, glare, old sun, so long unseen,
That time may find its sound again, and cleanse
Whatever it is that a wound remembers
After the healing end
Source: fluttering-slips
Quote reblogged from grammatolatry with 512 notes
Some piece of you
stays in me and I’ll never give it back.
The heart hoards its thorns
just as the rose profligates.
Just because you’ve had enough
doesn’t mean you wanted too much.
Source: theparisreview.org
Post reblogged from tell me if this is all true with 294 notes
Like the Rain, Smell It Coming
I am dreaming of tornadoes again, too many for the sky to contain. I have checked eight websites and the dictionary on my nightstand. I did not need technology or a writer to tell me there is chaos in my heart. I don’t tell people sometimes my dreams come true. I fear some parts are not metaphor. In the mornings I check the horizon. I am relieved when there is some whisper of light. On the way home from camping, a large storm made the highway a blur of brake lights, my fingers killers to my steering wheel. I kept searching for funnels, their willowy bodies twisting their way to the ground. Mapped out escape routes and viaducts to pull beneath. Today I fell asleep on the couch again. The wind rustled me awake, and parts of the sky were dark again. I can’t shake that something is coming. I don’t do well with worry. My mother built me to fix things.
Source: fluttering-slips
Monologue of a Commercial Fisherman - Alan Dugan
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