I have a new blog post up. Enjoy!
Les Miserables by Annie Leibovitz | Vogue December 2012
Let us take a sack of spray paint and spray paint over the paintings.
Let dance through Paris;
kiss in the shadow of the louve,
crawl inside its windows,
scroll manifesto’s over its canvas’,
write morris’ code on the sculputers,
roll a sleeping bag on the floors to sleep inside of, tell one another a story by flashlight,
unearth everything from before,
burry each other inside the other,
feed grapes to the ants,
light fireworks in the fists of sleeping kings; kill a monach.
Break back outside and find a world to do all these same things to;
up and upon against break the bricks, climb over them,
and when the sirens scream,
laugh aloud,hold my hand and run fast.
Run through the streets with me with a bunch of bottles,
a bucket of gasoline,
a mouthful of matches,
a pocket full of paintings and fresh faced batch of policemen to chase the fires we are lighting,
laugh on a shoulder of gold.
And i thought that the museums where cemetaries where the dead paid the wall to hold what we had so that we could walk through what we once were,
And children take their sculls to turn into gardens,
to pluck for forefathers and farther stars,
that on some nights resemble an armless mother praying for her arms to return.
Every tooth that we tear from our jaw to fling at the black gloved riot soldiers as another shadow that we are trying to lose.
Let every giggle be filled with lust; let us laugh this night away and i will fuck you like you were a prayer.
I could save me by having my mouth around you,
and i will hold you afterwards like you were the pullpit and i was the sky,
and this love that danced between that hardness was a telephone line of holiness that those two things spoke through.
Take me into your heart like i was a saint,
and you were a face of forgivenss blooming in a valley destined to sink further.
Be a river with me;
Be the storm;
the bend in the path;
the front porch; the heat in the south;
be a boot full of banjo strings;
a fist full of written songs;
a mouthfull of chocolate dust.
When they come to take us,
stab them between the eyes.
Do not take your hand from around mine.
Make a fist with the other, and punch spines like guilds, spit, sweat, kiss them like a grandmother. How will open mouthed terror love filled?
And when they come to cut out hair and ask to hear pennince come from inside us,
say with me loud and trembling,
but loud and clear that:
“i have already emptied myself. I kissed regret goodbye, took the hands of another backwards angel, and rode backwards into the rain”
When the hangman of morrow comes to hang the sun in its daily execution say this with me: “‘Sarah we are apples, our love is an apple; im unbuttoning my shirt; painting a circle over my heart, please„ just shoot straight.”
— Rainer Maria Rilke (via joyeuse)
Another beautiful day. Today I finished “The Prophet” written by Kahlil Gibran. I hope you enjoy this excerpt as much as I did & do.
“You have been told that, even like a chain,you are as weak as your weakest link. This is but half the truth. You are alsoas strong as your strongest link.To measure you by your smallest deed isto reckon the power of the ocean by the frailty of its foam. To judge you by your failures is to cast blame upon the seasons for their inconstancy. Ay, you are like an ocean,And though heavy-grounded ships awaitthe tide upon your shores, yet, even like an ocean, you cannot hasten your tides.”
I’m in Aruba this week. While I’m here I keep being reminded of a couple things:
1. How thankful I am for my roommates and how much I miss them.
2. How precious and stunning the natural world is.
3. How I really need to remember how fair skinned I am. SPF 50 only.
4. Lastly, how much I can’t wait to spend moments like these with a precious someone, someday.