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betterbooktitles:

Stephenie Meyer: Breaking Dawn (Twilight Saga, Book 4)
Reader Submission: Title and Redesign by Liz Lay (special thanks to Adrian Vazquez for a similar idea)

betterbooktitles:

Stephenie Meyer: Breaking Dawn (Twilight Saga, Book 4)

Reader Submission: Title and Redesign by Liz Lay (special thanks to Adrian Vazquez for a similar idea)

The night is darkening round me

blogut:

The night is darkening round me,
The wild winds coldly blow;
But a tyrant spell has bound me,
And I cannot, cannot go.

The giant trees are bending
Their bare boughs weighed with snow;
The storm is fast descending,
And yet I cannot go.

Clouds beyond clouds above me,
Wastes beyond wastes below;
But nothing drear can move me;
I will not, cannot go.

Emily Brontë

americanfattie:

my dog when we first got him!!

americanfattie:

my dog when we first got him!!

Murmuration from Sophie Windsor Clive on Vimeo.

forloublog:

A Murmuration of Birds, by Sophie Windsor Clive

Amazing.

I’m selfish, impatient, and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control, and at times hard to handle. But if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.
Marilyn Monroe (via americanfattie)
americanfattie:

Kitty missiles.

americanfattie:

Kitty missiles.

Thinking and Thanking

lareviewofbooks:

PETER CAMPION on Carol Muske-Dukes

and ANGE MLINKO on Susan Stewart.

Satellite view of the Mississippi River shows riverbank land-use patterns.
Image courtesy of NASA

PETER CAMPION

Find Yourself A City To Live In


Carol Muske-Dukes
Twin Cities

Penguin, May 2011. 96 pp.

You wake up in a new city, but you don’t know which one it is. Before the rational part of your mind kicks in, while the traffic blurs past, your memory shuffles for possible answers. New York? Your cousin’s house in Jackson, Mississippi? Los Angeles? Or right at home, wherever that may be? The disorientation can be unnerving, but strangely pleasurable too. Certainly, there’s a tinge of glamour: if you don’t know what city you’re in, you must really be a big shot. But that doesn’t completely explain the pleasure; there’s something deeper, something more immediately grafted to sensation. You feel that you’re waking into the unknown, the possible. Your consciousness and your surroundings have become mutually permeable. Or else, the opposite feels true: the link between consciousness and its surroundings has broken, and now you must struggle to readjust. Either way, in those moments, the relation of the self to the world feels somehow more active, more engaged.

What makes Carol Muske-Dukes’ new collection of poems, Twin Cities, so impressive is her passionate attentiveness to this very state. She has a unique ability to reflect and embody how our personal experiences and the actual spaces through which we travel fuse and fissure. Muske-Dukes has long been a superb poet of travel — not in the strictly touristic sense (though she has written some fine poems about tourism) but in the more basic, expansive sense of movement through space. I remember finding her 1997 collection An Octave Above Thunder: New and Selected Poems in a college bookstore and turning to the opening poem, “Like This.” Here are the first twelve lines:
Maybe it’s not the city you thought
it was. Maybe its flaws, like cracks
in freeway pylons, got bigger, caught
your eye, like swastikas on concrete stacks.

Maybe lately the dull astrologies of End,
Millennium-edge rant about world death
make sense. Look. Messages the dead send
take time to arrive. When the parched breath

of the Owens River Valley guttered out,
real voices bled through the black & white.
The newspaper ad cried, We who are about
to die salute you. Unarmed, uncontrite.

Read More

its-gonna-be-a-long-walk:

Photographer: Andrea Carter - Bowman
Model: Sophie Kennedy Clarke

its-gonna-be-a-long-walk:

Photographer: Andrea Carter - Bowman

Model: Sophie Kennedy Clarke