It wasn’t love if it wasn’t sad.
Every noise your body could possibly make
I have heard. Think about that.
Make no mistake.
Its not your stupid, torn up sperrys Its not the fact that I ran into you downtown and you were by yourself, drinking a Guinness, reading Orwell And its not your stupid motorcycle. You remind me of Holden Caulfield and That Is why I want to fuck you.
Seven twigs spelled out “You Die” in my dream last night. That was enough to make me toss, restlessly, turn on my light, and not fall back asleep.
Too Much Gary Soto
I ate tamales today and I couldn’t stop thinking about wedding rings. The way the tip of my tongue would fit perfectly through that cold, silver hole and stop my munching instantly. And the suprise. And the beauty that I would spit out into my palm. Like an archeologist who discovers a basket that once held a baby and her blanket years and years and years ago.
How to raise MORAL freethinkers without God's... →
I can’t wait (but, really, I can) to raise my own kids with this excellent model. We don’t need God to learn morals. You just need good parenting. End of story.
Zelda and Scott Fitzgerald
The strain of her tempestuous marriage, Scott’s increasing alcoholism, and her growing instability presaged Zelda’s admittance to the Sheppard Pratt sanatorium in 1930. She was diagnosed with Bipolar disorder. While in the Towson, Maryland, clinic, she wrote a semi-autobiographical novel, Save Me the Waltz, which was published in 1932. Scott was furious that she had used material from...