summer’s last gasp
sunday morning monkeyin around
This is the first line of Alice Kim’s mind-blowingly baller story, “Mothers, Lock Up Your Daughters Because They Are Terrifying,” in the new issue of Tin House. I am somewhere in the chasm between terrified and in-love. (via jaimealyse)
holy holy. this story IS baller.
I felt like I had to get out (legs kicking while saying this) before it got bad, before we couldn’t speak to each other anymore, before it turned ugly, before we changed, before we couldn’t look at each other with open eyes / a love letter to all the men who have given good books to me / fell asleep thinking of machines / eventually you’ll stop listening to motel blues / landlocked / hard fumes from the car and asking myself are you getting high from standing here so long / a song came on the radio and they announced it as ‘a song about a relationship that isn’t wrong but isn’t right either, a song about letting a good man go’ and I swore / ‘well, he looks like every other guy I fuck so it was nothin’ special’ / if you picture it like this it would’ve been simple, I would’ve closed the door / she says ‘I’ll make you feel better’ / I had all my clothes on and you were still naked and you pulled me back to bed before I left for work and it was quiet and dark, quiet and dark, quiet and dark
I know tumblr is flawed in its ability to regulate sources/credits, and that’s one of the assumed risks of putting anything you create on the internet, BUT, if you’ve reblogged this photo without credit because whoever posted it originally didn’t include any, it’s not too late to go back and add a link!
But then, of course, there is the simple reality of living. Standing in the Trader Joe’s line tonight, trying to look placid and sober after four beers in the sun, I had the sudden, watery feeling that I’d probably be much the same anywhere. The details would change, there would be gas and parking, or Euros and visas, and yet, always Sunday nights. All lonely and sorrowful, the sun setting no matter what. The cashiers at whatever store, wherever it is, waving me toward them with the same bored hands, me blinking at them slowly and saying, “I can just put that in my bag. I’m not going far.”"
Easily the best part of the VMAs.
We’re all dead now over Beyonce at the VMA’s right?
"Feminist: a person who believes in the social, political, and economic equality of the sexes.” Think about that: feminist sat written in huge letters on a screen behind the most popular pop star in the world on an awards show whose main demographic is tweens and teens.
The dog Schafer says to
put it to sleep. Let it down easy,
he says. There is no thicker love
than to suffer. Schafer says
the gray is getting thin. We aren’t
losing track of its bones
these days. We consult Schafer
as to what can be done; he suggests
we let it go. Sooner or later, we will shake
it off, understand we never would’ve
held it so close if it weren’t for that one
time. I nod, and then you nod. I’ll remember
August, I say, not looking at you
or at Schafer, how embarrassingly the heat
suffocated a home of us, how happy we were
that it melted our hair and insides.