everywhere faeryair feelable heavenless


December is gone, along with January and February.
Spring is here. Tulip buds appear.

The empty trees stagger and flail
like drunks going home.

The wind recites a spell.
The rose arbor trembles.

The dark blue water lotus, niluphar,
says to the jasmine, Look how
twisted together we are.

Clover blossom to meadow grass,
This is the grace we have wanted.

The violets bow,
responding to the hyacinths,
and the narcissus winks,
An interesting development.

The willow slings her lightheaded
hair around, saying nothing,
and the cypress grows even more still.
Everybody is so beautifully
becoming themselves.

Artists go outdoors to let the beauty
move through their hands and their brushes.

Sweet-feathered birds light on the pulpit.
The soul sings, Ya hu. The dove
replies, Coo, coo

The roses open their shirts.
It is not right to stay closed
when the time of divulging comes.

One rosebud remarks to the nightingale,
Lilies have hundreds of tongues,
but they do not tell their secrets.

No more holding back. Be reckless.
Tell your love to everybody.

And so the nightingale does.
The plane tree bends to the vine,
Stand up. The prostrating
part of prayer is over.

The vine, This prostration is not voluntary.
I have that in me that makes me always
like this, burning with surrender,
flat on my face.

It is the same power
that makes you plane.

The rose asks the saffron,
Why so pale?

The plump red apple replies,
Because saffron does not understand
that the beloved is absence
as well as this fullness.

Just then stones begin
bombarding him, but he laughs,
knowing how lover calls to lover.

Zuleikha tears Joseph’s shirt,
but that is love-play to make him naked.

The apple absorbs a direct hit
and stays on the tree.

I hang here like Hallaj, feeling those lips
on me, the honor of being lifted up
on a crucifixion apple tree.

Now the kissing is over.
Fold your love in.
Hide it like pastry filling.

Whisper within with
a shy girl’s tenderness.


Ask me if you dare
  • me: whats your opinion on tampons
  • little brother: they're little fuzzy sticks on strings
  • me: then you are ultimately more mature than most boys
  • little brother: why
  • me: for some reason tampons are gross and taboo just cuz they go in a vagina
  • little brother: well so does a penis and boys never stop talking about those
  • me:
  • little brother:
  • me: that is a fantastic point

Source: lokisadvocate



Tagged: dead

Source: patrickkingart

Source: ethelreds




a woman has twins and gives them up for adoption

one of them goes to a family in egypt and is named amal the other goes to a family in spain they name him juan

years later juan sends a picture of himself to his birth mother. upon receiving the picture she tells her husband that she wishes she also had a picture of amal

he responds “theyre twins if youve seen juan youve seen amal”



Source: bladetheroosterteethfanguy

Cakes have gotten a bad rap. People equate virtue with turning down dessert. There is always one person at the table who holds up her hand when I serve the cake. No, really, I couldn’t she says, and then gives her flat stomach a conspiratorial little pat. Everyone who is pressing a fork into that first tender layer looks at the person who declined the plate, and they all think, That person is better than I am. That person has discipline. But that isn’t a person with discipline; that is a person who has completely lost touch with joy. A slice of cake never made anybody fat. You don’t eat the whole cake. You don’t eat a cake every day of your life. You take the cake when it is offered because the cake is delicious. You have a slice of cake and what it reminds you of is someplace that’s safe, uncomplicated, without stress. A cake is a party, a birthday, a wedding. A cake is what’s served on the happiest days of your life. This is a story of how my life was saved by cake, so, of course, if sides are to be taken, I will always take the side of cake.
— Jeanne Ray  (via elauxe)

Source: the-healing-nest

Subplots bring realism to your main plot simply by existing – by interrupting the flow. Why is this? Because life doesn’t move forward all at once. Interruptions happen, change rushes in, we juggle three or ten balls at once. Readers don’t expect continuous narratives.
— Elizabeth Sims (via planb-becomeapirate)

Source: writingquotes


I know that feel Mulan

Source: gointodidneyworl


Walt Disney Animation Studios | 1937 - 2014

After seeing this post, I decided to make this. The “Experimental” era is usually referred to as Post-Renaissance. I imagine the Revival is going to continue through this decade. 2015 and beyond films listed are: (left to right) Zootopia, Giants, and Moana.

If you want to read more about each era and how they got their names, click here.

Source: wannabeanimator


i can’t even appreciate the beauty of the sunrise after staying up all night because it’s just like. fuck. there it is. there’s the sun. i fucked up. why am i laughing. nothing is funny. the sun is there and it’s harshly reprimanding me for being awake all night. “this is the life you’ve chosen for yourself fucker” it says. i’m not laughing. i’m crying. there’s the fucking sun

Source: jaclcfrost

There are no Jack Kerouacs or Holden Caulfields for girls. Literary girls don’t take road-trips to find themselves; they take trips to find men.

"Great" books, as defined by the Western canon, didn’t contain female protagonists I could admire. In fact, they barely contained female protagonists at all.

Source: oditor