Last night, I dreamed of the death of a star,
And when I woke up, you were still gone.
I decided each name on each spine was the person who the book had been written for, rather than who had written it. I decided everyone in the world had a book with their name on, and if I searched hard enough I’d eventually find mine.
As birds, we skimmed the honey-pink sea
like stones from the hands of our children blurred
against the rising storms
which ripped us from our wings into breathless clouds
as below our bodies crumbled
never to return to who we were
when we were birds.
As clouds, we scaled the charcoal mountains
until our bellies burst to free the feathers
already lost as we gave birth.
We drifted long before the world
when we were clouds.
As rain, we left our mothers
and our grip on the rising sky.
We bid the past goodbye.
We fell. We kissed the earth. We died.
We learned the beauty and danger of love
when we were rain.
When we were earth, we swallowed the sighs of our children
and buried the fears that had broken our backs to the ground.
When we were earth we breathed as one with everything
raised our gazes to the honey-pink sky
and watched ourselves far above fly
to meet our lives, again, as birds.
You turn the book over in your hands, you scan the sentences on the back of the jacket, generic phrases that don’t say a great deal. So much the better, there is no message that indiscreetly outshouts the message that the book itself must communicate directly, that you must extract from the book, however much or little it may be. Of course, this circling of the book, too, this reading around it before reading inside it, is a part of the pleasure in a new book, but like all preliminary pleasures, it has its optimal duration if you want it to serve as a thrust toward the more substantial pleasure of the consummation of the act, namely the reading of the book.
Buying a book is not about obtaining a possession, but about securing a portal.
Someone get this guy a fucking medal.
They made birth control for men. However it never got past the clinical testing stage because its side effects were things like “moodiness, extreme cramping, hunger, increased sexual drive” and were considered INHUMANE.
what the fuck do they think women go through every goddamn month seriously
I’M SORRY MEN CAN’T HANDLE MENSTRATION
men are pussies
Men are not pussies because they can’t handle having one