“My blood is alive with many voices telling me I am made of longing.”
Rainer Maria Rilke (via french-rose)

(via saturnrising)


(via para56)

me and fathan,

Maxine Chernoff, from “Scene”


In the moonlit blue house,
where snow won’t fall
unless called upon,
grace enters as requested,
lands next to you, grasped,
as if love were a reflex
simple as weather.


July 30th- Kim arriving at Barry’s Bootcamp in LA

you are more for me 

every time you roll in my sleep and I am dissatisfied is the melody of his name I hear beats me alive and saying what could sleep or close my eyes while this man is in his your mind

thoughts on my three great loves


it’s been you baby through all the boring heavy lifting through all the computer work and phone calls . through all the time wasting through all the eye rolling. a black shirt a black skirt a weak pair of arms but still it’s been you. to lift from the legs. somehow i found you waiting for me in a box of butterflies. i didn’t even tell my last boss goodbye just walked out like i didn’t even care and i didn’t. now it’s like how the hell could i ever move away from you baby. baby i love you you busted capillary you purple bags under the eyes lazy sleepless dirty fucking job. making fun of crying families behind their backs then smashing a glass vase against the wall because after all that bitching i’m truly truly sorry. sigh of relief you get to wake up and do it again. dual callings. hows a poor girl to choose. loves of my life both of you. carry that body and sing to it too.


it’s been you baby through all the heavy lifting and sick queasy sweating. descending levels of talent, first i fall in love with the master of all games then a kid with nimble fingers then a man who never sleeps and this list goes on until we get to this fumbling idiot with clubbed little fingers decked out in jewels always you’ve been too vain for your own good get yourself locked up and i agree it would be a sin a great sin for you to not explain to the world somehow that you are the most beautiful thing that’s ever walked it. you on the big screen dancing like a bootlegger. nobody else with the heart muscle to marry me from a distance like you did . nobody else that wouldn’t even ask my permission, just knowing that i’d put the ring on. rolling it over and over in a holy bowl taking your sweet time and rubbing your face in the mirror deciding today aint the day i’m gonna get rid of this no - today i’d like to look like a wild man then by the end walking through walmart with a baby on your arm and your ugly black hat on wearing the same clothes you wear on tv you’ll think damn am i the wolf in the cage or is she. every time i start the car baby it’s you every time i roll over in my sleep and i’m unsatisfied it’s the tune of your name i hear and it knocks me alive saying how could you ever sleep or close your eyes while this man of yours is in your mind


it’s been you baby through all the heavy lifting, through the braided feathers and rainstorm prophecies and gas station pit stops. it’s been you through every rolling hill and tin roof tap through the redheaded relatives coming to me instead of me coming to them and through the missing teeth and the backyard plastic pools and the impossible tomato plants and the babylon tree that tumbled away some night in my sleep. here today gone tomorrow. that’s me someday dixie here today gone tomorrow. someday baby will you teach me with your ramps and berries and your coal and wildflowers and your people that seemed to have come up from the ground itself with rifles and confederate flags and aprons and drunk driving homemade wine in an old coke bottle will you teach me to live simple to love what i’ve got to walk through my life with the man i know is mine and a little change in my pocket and come home where i belong?


one time I heard about this thing that happened when the US nuked Japan. Basically, when ppl’s hands were exposed to the blast, the fingertips and nails would get burned off. After that, the fingernails would grow back, but they’d be black. And the tip of it would look almost like the texture of a…


sunrise ~ Whiskey Chitto Creek, Louisiana

(via saturnrising)