[minorcritic]

[evilnicegirl]

if i could give advice to me as a teenager i would say be 25

[minorcritic]

Thistle is a lovely word to pronounce—it feels like drawing a bow and releasing it. An arrow at the ready; a word on the tongue.

[monogreek]

The floor (1993) by Giorgos Rorris (b. 1963)

[minorcritic]

[minorcritic]

[apoemaday]

my dreams, my works, must wait till after hell

by Gwendolyn Brooks

I hold my honey and I store my bread  In little jars and cabinets of my will.  I label clearly, and each latch and lid  I bid, Be firm till I return from hell.  I am very hungry. I am incomplete. And none can tell when I may dine again.  No man can give me any word but Wait,  The puny light. I keep eyes pointed in;  Hoping that, when the devil days of my hurt  Drag out to their last dregs and I resume  On such legs as are left me, in such heart  As I can manage, remember to go home, My taste will not have turned insensitive  To honey and bread old purity could love.

[minorcritic]

A character who dies in his son’s armor at the hand of his brother...

[warmfigure]

The Hand by Ellen Altfest

[nunhauntology]

fanny howe

[minorcritic]

Vanilla vodka in pasta sauce

[wherepetalsbecomeprayer]

[achillesinhighheels]

[petaltexturedskies]

Tove Jansson, The Summer Book

[minorcritic]

Critics forget that Caleb Landry Jones in Dracula will allow me to indulge in what cinema once knew but has since forgotten: an intriguing face.

[minorcritic]

My grandma only liked what she called self-respecting flowers of which the carnation was one. I have come into a sample of Hiram Green's Philtre and it is rapturously bygone. It is a kind of thrumming desire: limpid boldness. I think of a moment in the more recent film adaptation of Lady Chatterley's Lover in which the title of lady is a thing of/to desire. "You would want coarser treatment with me," Oliver realizes obediently. Philtre smells like the steaming ground where the two have lain—kneeling, broken green stems against a backdrop of pressed floral silhouettes. The single carnation of the perfume is, of course, red.

[minorcritic]