divs

darling, we're just trying to live and let live

[paolabracho-deactivated20230704]

i'm very much in favor of the whole "make bad art write shitty poetry draw awful zines etc" thing except when it comes to people trying to win the pulitzer on uquiz

[letterstoyourghost]

uquizzers be trying to make an existensial question out of everything

[sonypraystation]

kids will have philosophical discussions on a trampoline

[desertsongpdf]

SEPTEMBER

poem beginning and ending with my death by zeina hashem beck // memory of water by reina maria rodriguez // a girl ago by lucy brock-broido // marta alvarado, history professor by marjorie agosin // mosiac by tim seibles // the bones of august by robin ekiss // peggy tony horton // september by deborah landau // september by h stuart // angel of repose by wallace stegner

[image id: 1) "I loved September best: / without fail, rain—the clear illusionist— / fell on the first day of school, always brought / the earth with it: the soil's fragrance rose raw / even in the alley." 2) "september is a month like any other and unlike any other. it seems in september everything awaited / will arrive: in the calm air, in a particular scent, in the stillness of the quay. when september comes, / i know i'm going to lose myself." 3) "Extinguish me from this. / I was sixteen for twenty years. By September I will be a ghost" 4) "In September / beyond the / breezes and the smoke / when autumn unveils its / fiery shell, / I think of you / fragile and severe, / small and immense" 5) "September: / the spiked fence freshly painted." 6) "not to carry the bones of August / into September, foiled with redness / and nothing to squander" 7) "Ah, September! You are the doorway to the season that awakens my soul... but I must confess that I love you / only because you are a prelude to my beloved October" 8) "Meanwhile August moved inward its impervious finale. / A mood by the river. Gone. One lucid rush carrying them along. // Borderless and open the days go on—" 9) "'The dark brown Inners brim / From little lake to lake, / Rustle and fall in slim / Streams down the mossy side / Of stone, while dim ferns shake / Their level spread of leaf, / Dust-grey beneath the wide / Cold light that these days take, / Gathering the calm grief / Into the face of the skies / Out of the heart-ache / The mortal heart denies." 10) "That old September feeling, left over from school days, of summer passing, / vacation nearly done, obligations gathering, books and football in the air ... / Another fall, another turned page: there was something of jubilee in that annual / autumnal beginning, as if last year's mistakes had been wiped clean by summer." /end id]

[ofbooksandbread-deactivated2025]

alright bitches it's sweater season let's get this fuckin show on the road

[letterstoyourghost]

fall is the best season and nobody can tell me otherwise

[ougxjv-deactivated20230305]

I don't think we can 'lmao' our way out of this one, girls.

[letterstoyourghost]

wtf is fractional distillation i hate chemistry

[detailedart]

〰 Intense Stares (again)

[valtsv]

live laugh love? nah. languish lament lay down

[valtsv]

feeling this

[lavenderbirds]

ok u know what. golden hour is great and all, but u know what time of day is super underappreciated??? BLUE hour

that time of day right after the sun sets or right before it rises…. *chef kiss* love that

[ashstfu]

[letterstoyourghost]

if you've not danced to "nobody" by mitski, in your underwear, behind closed doors and facing the mirrors, have you even lived a life

[hey--pourmeabeer]

[honeydaydream]

foggy glasgow morning cold glasgow evening

[slimeblocks-deactivated20180421]

[sounddesignerjeans-deactivated2]

[saintsoup]

a good gender neutral term to use is “fool”

[plathsbitch]

the idea of bacchanals and revenge and blood and sisterhood and analyzing literature while drinking some baileys and losing a little bit of control while we reenact Shakespeare and showing our outfits to the ghost of Oscar Wilde and believing Donna Tartt would absolutely adore us and just autumn

[kristenbouchard]

good fucking lord i would just like to spend so long walking around a museum that my feet hurt by the end of the day. maybe pop into the gift shop. grab a latte on the way home. jesus christ

[literature-cult]

after he fell

an original poem i wrote about icarus and the sun

Icarus loved the sun

Like a bullet loves a gun

Yet the sun was the bullet

And Icarus was the trigger

The bullet that bore through man’s flesh

And the sun melted Icarus’ wings

Scorched his skin like some kind of holy ritual

And Icarus laughed as he fell

Icarus laughed in bitter triumph

As gravity hugged him closer

He was supposed to be soaring

And here he was falling

The fall didn’t scare him

The view enchanted him

He went down in flames

But, oh, he went down with a smile

He went down knowing something better awaited him

Better than the chain-bound imprisonment of gravity in this world

Then he would finally fly

And his reign would prosper in the sky

He closed his eyes and laughed again

As the gun shot pierced his ears

A bullet would not break him

For his heart lied with the sun

Gravity would not detain him

For he was one with the sun

A faint voice whispered to him “open your eyes child, open your eyes.”

Icarus asked “is this paradise?”

The voice laughed “you’ve been told lies.”

And Icarus cried, oh he cried.