i like pot and poetry and the sound of my own voice.
"You brought me hyacinths first a year ago,
they called me the hyacinth girl."
- Yet when we came back, late, from the hyacinth garden
your arms full, your hair wet, I could not
speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, I knew nothing,
Staring into the heart of the light, the silence.
- T. S. Eliot, The Wasteland
“He said “Dance for me” and he said
“You are too beautiful for the wind
To pick at or the sun to burn.” He said
“I’m a poor tattered thing, but not unkind
To the sad dancer and the dancing dead.”
- Sidney Keyes, The Four Postures of Death
« dont copy, dont remove this tag »
is it sad that out of everyone in the world, living or dead, my mom means the most to me?
forever a nerd who loves her mommy.
just for the record.
gluten-free chocolate cupcakes with cream cheese icing and tiny chocolate chips on top are even better than before when you add a gram of dry ice hash.
fun fact: this turns me on.
i really wish my coworkers would stop forgetting how old i am.
they keep asking me if i want to go get drinks with them after work.
i just finished writing a paper on ‘the yellow wallpaper’, and i noticed in the closing paragraph i’d mistakenly written ‘jane’ instead of ‘the narrator’.
there’s no goddamn ambiguity after all.
bitch was just stoned as fuck when she wrote that thing.
so much for sleeping
after 4am there is never hope
come watch the sunrise with me
BETCH I AM.
