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(via washington post on youtube)

“Is this the best thing ever or is it opening some weird door we can’t shut?

America’s ongoing struggle to engage with the basic humanity of women

There is a bitter fight going on right now for middle-aged douchey white men to regain power and control and that is going on at all levels of society

Victorian Women Mountaineers.

#victorian women

Love was the greatest thing, wasn’t it?

Ernest Hemingway, To Have and Have Not, 1937

#hemingway

The talent of Philip Roth floats freely in this rampaging novel with a plot thick as starlings winging to a tree and then flying off again.

Elizabeth Hardwick, New York Review, June 1997

#philip roth #elizabeth hardwick

In a morning fog on Wednesday — at 9:45 a.m. to be precise, according to a tweet by the California Department of Public Transportation — the piece of the road at Mud Creek, south of the Big Sur region, that had cut off so many travelers, was reopened. The most famous California road trip was back on.

New York Times

#highway one

Many seabirds navigate by smell, mapping the oceans by the distinctive fumes that come off krill and other microscopic food sources. The same chemical signature is attached to pieces of plastic that has been in the sea for a while, which is why seabirds die from eating plastic. They’re not stupid; it just smells like their food.

Kate Macdonald

#plastic straws

(via washington post on youtube)

#tomwolfe #therightstuff

Not anymore.

#no

I'm sixty eight,” he said, ”I first bucked hay when I was seventeen. I thought, that day I started, I sure would hate to do this all my life. And dammit, that's just what I've gone and done.

from Hay For The Horses Riprap,1959

#gary snyder

She had told him that she was not a virgin. But that turned out to be a complicated half-truth, owing to the interference of a piano teacher, when she was fifteen. She had gone along with what the piano teacher wanted because she felt sorry for people who wanted things so badly.

from Corrie, by Alice Munro

#women in fiction

Things aren’t like that. They stay, their little particular lusters Warmed by much handling. They almost purr.

from sylvia plath late poem, “last words”

#poem

Over my head I see the bronze butterfly Asleep on the black trunk, Blowing like a leaf in green shadow. Down the ravine, behind the empty house, The cowbells follow one another Into the distances of the afternoon. To my right, In a field of sunlight between two pines, The droppings of last year’s horses Blaze up like golden stones. I lean back, as the evening darkens and comes on. A chicken hawk floats over, looking for home. I have wasted my life.

“Lying in a Hammock at William Duffy’s Farm in Pine Island, Minnesota,” James Merrill

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