To the Harbormaster by Frank O'Hara : The Poetry Foundation

I wanted to be sure to reach you;
though my ship was on the way it got caught
in some moorings. I am always tying up
and then deciding to depart. In storms and
at sunset, with the metallic coils of the tide
around my fathomless arms, I am unable
to understand the forms of my vanity
or I am hard alee with my Polish rudder
in my hand and the sun sinking. To
you I offer my hull and the tattered cordage
of my will. The terrible channels where
the wind drives me against the brown lips
of the reeds are not all behind me. Yet
I trust the sanity of my vessel; and
if it sinks, it may well be in answer
to the reasoning of the eternal voices,
the waves which have kept me from reaching you.

frank o'hara poetry poem to the harbormaster love return

slaughterhouse90210:

I wrote an essay about New York City and books and the Internet, specifically on the ways in which my “silly little Tumblr” helped me become part of a literary community that is thriving. 
It’s from Sari Botton’s wonderful anthology Never Can Say Goodbye: Writers on Their Unshakeable Love for New York, which is on sale today. The anthology also features Tumblr faves like Alex Chee, Jenna Wortham, Rachel Syme, Jason Diamond, Isaac Fitzgerald, and so many more!
Also, I’m just really in love with the illustration, which implies that I am someone who might own a super fancy sweat suit just for reading. 
Enjoy!
xo Maris

I definitely need to read this.

slaughterhouse90210:

I wrote an essay about New York City and books and the Internet, specifically on the ways in which my “silly little Tumblr” helped me become part of a literary community that is thriving. 

It’s from Sari Botton’s wonderful anthology Never Can Say Goodbye: Writers on Their Unshakeable Love for New York, which is on sale today. The anthology also features Tumblr faves like Alex Chee, Jenna Wortham, Rachel Syme, Jason Diamond, Isaac Fitzgerald, and so many more!

Also, I’m just really in love with the illustration, which implies that I am someone who might own a super fancy sweat suit just for reading. 

Enjoy!

xo Maris

I definitely need to read this.

slaughterhouse90210 new york city books sari botton never can say goodbye

"Snow and Dirty Rain" by Richard Siken

Snow and Dirty Rain

Close your eyes. A lover is standing too close
to focus on. Leave me blurry and fall toward me 
with your entire body. Lie under the covers, pretending
to sleep, while I’m in the other room. Imagine
my legs crossed, my hair combed, the shine of my boots
in the slatted light. I’m thinking My plant, his chair,
the ashtray that we bought together. 
I’m thinking This is where
we live. 
When we were little we made houses out of 
cardboard boxes. We can do anything. It’s not because
our hearts are large, they’re not, it’s what we
struggle with. The attempt to say Come over. Bring
your friends. It’s a potluck, I’m making pork chops, I’m making
those long noodles you love so much. 
My dragonfly,
my black-eyed fire, the knives in the kitchen are singing
for blood, but we are the crossroads, my little outlaw,
and this is the map of my heart, the landscape
after cruelty which is, of course, a garden, which is
a tenderness, which is a room, a lover saying Hold me
tight, it’s getting cold.
 We have not touched the stars,
nor are we forgiven, which brings us back
to the hero’s shoulders and the gentleness that comes,
not from the absence of violence, but despite
the abundance of it. The lawn drowned, the sky on fire,
the gold light falling backward through the glass
of every room. I’ll give you my heart to make a place 
for it to happen, evidence of a love that transcends hunger.
Is that too much to expect? That I would name the stars
for you? That I would take you there? The splash
of my tongue melting you like a sugar cube? We’ve read
the back of the book, we know what’s going to happen.
The fields burned, the land destroyed, the lovers left
broken in the brown dirt. And then’s it’s gone.
Makes you sad. All your friends are gone. Goodbye
Goodbye. No more tears. I would like to meet you all
in Heaven. But there’s a litany of dreams that happens
somewhere in the middle. Moonlight spilling
on the bathroom floor. A page of the book where we
transcend the story of our lives, past the taco stands
and record stores. Moonlight making crosses
on your body, and me putting my mouth on every one.
We have been very brave, we have wanted to know
the worst, wanted the curtain to be lifted from our eyes.
This dream going on with all of us in it. Penciling in
the bighearted slob. Penciling in his outstrechted arms.
Our father who art in Heaven. Our father who art buried
in the yard. 
Someone is digging your grave right now.
Someone is drawing a bath to wash you clean, he said,
so think of the wind, so happy, so warm. It’s a fairy tale,
the story underneath the story, sliding down the polished 
halls, lightning here and gone. We make these
ridiculous idols so we can to what’s behind them,
but what happens after we get up the ladder?
Do we simply stare at what’s horrible and forgive it?
Here is the river, and here is the box, and here are
the monsters we put in the box to test our strength
against. Here is the cake, and here is the fork, and here’s
the desire to put it inside us, and then the question
behind every question: What happens next?
The way you slam your body into mine reminds me
I’m alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling,
and they’re only a few steps behind you, finding
the flaw, the poor weld, the place where we weren’t 
stitched up quite right, the place they could almost
slip right into through if the skin wasn’t trying to 
keep them out, to keep them here, on the other side
of the theater where the curtain keeps rising.
I crawled out the window and ran into the woods.
I had to make up all the words myself. The way
they taste, the wy they sound in the air. I passed
through the narrow gate, stumbled in, stumbled
around for a while, and stumbled back out. I made
this place for you. A place for to love me. 
If this isn’t a kingdom then I don’t know what is.
So how would you catalog it? Dawn in the fields?
Snow and dirty rain? Light brought in in buckets?
I was trying to describe the kingdom, but the letters
kept smudging as I wrote them: the hunter’s heart,
the hunter’s mouth, the trees and the trees and the
space between the trees, swimming in gold. The words
frozen. The creatures frozen. The plum sauce
leaking out of the bag. Explaining will get us nowhere. 
I was away, I don’t know where, lying on the floor,
pretending I was dead. I wanted to hurt you
but the victory is that I could not stomach it. We have
swallowed him up, 
they said. It’s beautiful. It really is.
I had a dream about you. We were in the gold room
where everyone finally gets what they want. 
You said Tell me about your books, your visions made
of flesh and light 
and I said This is the Moon. This is
the Sun. Let me name the stars for you. Let me take you
there. The splash of my tongue melting you like a sugar
cube… 
We were in the gold room where everyone 
finally gets what they want, so I said What do you
want, sweetheart? 
and you said Kiss me. Here I am
leaving you clues. I am singing now while Rome
burns. We are all just trying to be holy. My applejack,
my silent night, just mash your lips against me. 
We are all going forward. None of us are going back.


Richard Siken
Full text found at this excellent blog

richard siken poetry poem love sex romance together rain snow you and i make the best kind of weather

Overqualified: A card that could fix things.

To: Hallmark
Re: more greeting card ideas.

Dear Hallmark, 

I have two card ideas for you today. 

#1 A cartoon drawing of a Calvin-and-Hobbes style father, yelling, angry, eyes bugging. Inside text: Dad, I realized today that I am now older than you were when you were raising me. I’m still so angry, but now I don’t know what to think. I have made my mistakes as well. 

#2 A drawing of a bashful puppy with a comical bandage around his fluffy jaw. Inside text: It kills me that you’re afraid of me now. 

I’m happy with the first card, but maybe someone at your offices can help me with the second? It doesn’t seem like enough. 

I wish there was a card that could fix things. 

Joey Comeau

This could well be the most important website on the Internet right now. 

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Science Fiction #1

squalorship:

A terrible science fiction happened today. First I was on the bus and an older bus lady sat down next to me. I could tell she was a bus lady by the way she dressed. You never see anyone dressed like that unless they’re on the bus, a velour blazer, a big green polar fleece hat with a flower on…

My friend is a great writer and you should check her out.

writing sci-fi flash fiction iloveyou

How to Talk to Girls at Parties by Neil Gaiman

This all happened thirty years ago. I have forgotten much, and I will forget more, and in the end I will forget everything; yet, if I have any certainty of life beyond death, it is all wrapped up not in psalms or hymns, but in this one thing alone: I cannot believe that I will ever forget that moment, or forget the expression on Stella’s face as she watched Vic hurrying away from her. Even in death I shall remember that. 

neil gaiman short stories fantasy

"Men always say that as the defining compliment, don’t they? She’s a cool girl. Being the Cool Girl means I am a hot, brilliant, funny woman who adores football, poker, dirty jokes, and burping, who plays video games, drinks cheap beer, loves threesomes and anal sex, and jams hot dogs and hamburgers into her mouth like she’s hosting the world’s biggest culinary gang bang while somehow maintaining a size 2, because Cool Girls are above all hot. Hot and understanding. Cool Girls never get angry; they only smile in a chagrined, loving manner and let their men do whatever they want. Go ahead, shit on me, I don’t mind, I’m the Cool Girl.

Men actually think this girl exists. Maybe they’re fooled because so many women are willing to pretend to be this girl. For a long time Cool Girl offended me. I used to see men – friends, coworkers, strangers – giddy over these awful pretender women, and I’d want to sit these men down and calmly say: You are not dating a woman, you are dating a woman who has watched too many movies written by socially awkward men who’d like to believe that this kind of woman exists and might kiss them. I’d want to grab the poor guy by his lapels or messenger bag and say: The bitch doesn’t really love chili dogs that much – no one loves chili dogs that much! And the Cool Girls are even more pathetic: They’re not even pretending to be the woman they want to be, they’re pretending to be the woman a man wants them to be. Oh, and if you’re not a Cool Girl, I beg you not to believe that your man doesn’t want the Cool Girl. It may be a slightly different version – maybe he’s a vegetarian, so Cool Girl loves seitan and is great with dogs; or maybe he’s a hipster artist, so Cool Girl is a tattooed, bespectacled nerd who loves comics. There are variations to the window dressing, but believe me, he wants Cool Girl, who is basically the girl who likes every fucking thing he likes and doesn’t ever complain. (How do you know you’re not Cool Girl? Because he says things like: “I like strong women.” If he says that to you, he will at some point fuck someone else. Because “I like strong women” is code for “I hate strong women."
- Gillian Flynn, Gone Girl (via fourplusonemore)

gillian flynn gone girl cool girl love relationships

14 Things You Probably Didn't Know About Margaret Atwood

Question: Stone Mattress is your first short story collection since you published Moral Disorder back in 1996. What inspired you to get back into writing short fiction again?

Margaret Atwood: Well I think probably the first one is the title story. I guess I wrote a couple of them earlier than that, but the title story really was written on a boat in the Arctic to amuse the fellow passengers. They were really interested in how you might murder somebody on a ship in the Arctic. I think they were a little too interested. So I started that, and I started reading it to those people. It wasn’t finished by the time we finished the trip and they said they really wanted to know how it came out, so I finished it. Then it got published in the New Yorker so I sent them all an email telling them where they could read it. I actually received quite a lot of responses from people who were very keen on it.

Keep reading for more brilliance from the master of fiction and coolness, Margaret Atwood

shanology:

cockedtail:

i need more tony stark facing his anxiety

more clint barton with his hearing aid

more bruce banner growing and dealing

more natasha romanoff accepting her new family

more sam wilson dealing with his own past

more bucky barnes becoming bucky again

Basically we want Avengers: The Therapy Sessions

(via professortennant)

avengers therapy issues

"It’s not a particularly flattering portrait of women, which is fine by me. Isn’t it time to acknowledge the ugly side? I’ve grown quite weary of the spunky heroines, brave rape victims, soul-searching fashionistas that stock so many books. I particularly mourn the lack of female villains — good, potent female villains. Not ill-tempered women who scheme about landing good men and better shoes (as if we had nothing more interesting to war over), not chilly WASP mothers (emotionally distant isn’t necessarily evil), not soapy vixens (merely bitchy doesn’t qualify either). I’m talking violent, wicked women. Scary women. Don’t tell me you don’t know some. The point is, women have spent so many years girl-powering ourselves — to the point of almost parodic encouragement — we’ve left no room to acknowledge our dark side. Dark sides are important. They should be nurtured like nasty black orchids."
-

"I Was Not a Nice Little Girl" by Gillian Flynn

http://gillian-flynn.com/for-readers/

(via the-imperial-potato-office)

Gillian Flynn women villians writing character