together, we'll live

in love with the English language & with human beings. (personal blog: acethetica)

[mingsonjia-deactivated20170120]

陈佩秋 - 岩边树色图

by Chen Peiqiu (2003)

[quotemadness]

I would like to step out of my heart and go walking beneath the enormous sky.

Rainer Maria Rilke (via quotemadness)

[eloquent-graffiti-blog]

Rothko’s Yellow

What I don’t understand is the beauty. The last attempts of the rain, my shoulders aching from all afternoon with the ladders and the hour with her. I watch the rainbow until I have to focus so hard I seem to create it. Thinking of her watching this storm, wanting him. This lightning. This glut in the gutters. Now only the yellow left. Now the blue seeped out. The purple gone. The red gone. People downstairs playing Bach, the quiet attenuated Bach. She must have tried and tried. The holes drilled in. The small man in the movie who looked like laughter would kill him. The carnation farmer who left snared birds for the woman he loved. Who would hang himself after stitching her ribbon to his chest. What I don’t understand is the beauty. I remember the theatre in Berkeley where we sat eating cucumbers, watching the colossal faces played over with colossal loss. I would get off early and meet her outside, her hair always wet. All last night I listened to the students walk by until 3, only the drunk left, the rebuffed and suddenly coupled. What did I almost write down on the pad by my bed that someone lowered me into my sleep? One morning when she and I still lived together, the pad said only, cotton. Cotton. Sometimes it’s horrible, the things said outright. But nothing explains the beauty, not weeping and shivering on that stone bench, not kneeling by the basement drain. Not remembering otherwise, that scarf she wore, the early snow, her opening the door in the bathing light. She must have tried and tried. What I don’t understand is the beauty.  - Dean Young

[oysterbunnies]

A Blessing James Wright

Just off the highway to Rochester, Minnesota, Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass. And the eyes of those two Indian ponies Darken with kindness. They have come gladly out of the willows To welcome my friend and me. We step over the barbed wire into the pasture Where they have been grazing all day, alone. They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness   That we have come. They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other. There is no loneliness like theirs. At home once more, They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness. I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms, For she has walked over to me  And nuzzled my left hand.  She is black and white, Her mane falls wild on her forehead, And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear That is delicate as the skin over a girl’s wrist. Suddenly I realize That if I stepped out of my body I would break Into blossom.

[oysterbunnies]

Lisa Russ Spaar

[second-impact]

[oysterbunnies]

There’s the one who’s an idler through laziness and weakness of character, through the baseness of his nature; you may, if you think fit, take me for such a one. Then there’s the other idler, the idler truly despite himself, who is gnawed inwardly by a great desire for action, who does nothing because he finds it impossible to do anything since he’s imprisoned in something, so to speak, because he doesn’t have what he would need to be productive, because the inevitability of circumstances is reducing him to this point. Such a person doesn’t always know himself what he could do, but he feels by instinct, I’m good for something, even so! I feel I have a raison d’être! I know that I could be a quite different man! For what then could I be of use, for what could I serve! There’s something within me, so what is it! That’s an entirely different idler; you may, if you think fit, take me for such a one.

Vincent Van Gogh in a letter to Theo Van Gogh, June 1880 (via oysterbunnies)

[tremendousandsonorouswords]

un(bee)mo vi n(in)g are(th e)you(o nly) asl(rose)eep

E. E. Cummings, from 95 Poems

[purplebuddhaproject]

The best way out is always through.

Robert Frost (via purplebuddhaproject)

[hellanne]

We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension, and not in another, unevenly. We grow partially. We are relative. We are mature in one realm, childish in another. The past, present, and future mingle and pull us backward, forward, or fix us in the present. We are made of layers, cells, constellations.

Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 4: 1944-1947

[alonesomes]

Your words have never left me. They’re the prayer I say everyday.

Snow Patrol, lyric from “New York,” Fallen Empires (Island, 2011)

[angelbeast]

loving someone is the most healing thing I have done

[oofpoetry]

At night I dream that you and I are two plants that grew together, roots entwined, and that you know the earth and the rain like my mouth, since we are made of earth and rain.

Pablo Neruda, from Regalo de un Poeta

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

The lights along the river were dim. A long river, they shone as from a dream; white bone- like lights the two of your watched shimmer

in the water and air, unable to reckon which reflected which, She took your hand and placed it on her chest like a book set face down for a second

so she might absorb just what she’d read. And your hand fit between her breasts where the rib curl slowly up and away like the hull of your boat, which was silent but for what you heard

through your hand: the pull and drift the heart keeps.

Steve Kronen, opening lines to “River,” Splendor (BOA Editions, Ltd., 2006)

[shinji--moon-deactivated2017123]

everyone is so complex & their movements, when they’re acting truly to themselves, are so uniquely them. i love that so much. the world is such fine detail i like things exquisite but i forget to love the entireties of people, of things. the pedal, not the piano, not even the sound. i am so enamored so easily by small sights of tenderness in a person i forget, sometimes, that there’s more. I love watching people cut cabbage, the sound of the layers being sliced through like snow tripping off of branches. i used to get so frustrated because it would take me so long to finish things perfect. i need all the details to be in place. i would stay up all night drawing people & places and get stuck on a hand vein shadow for thirty minutes. it takes me so long to understand someone & i rarely jump into things like relationships because i start with their hands move into the cabbage i love their movements then i love their language then everything has to fall into place. i have lost & gained so much because i move slow in loving. it’s alright. it happens. i watch what i am falling for and sometimes by the time i’m ready it’s too late so it’s alright it’s alright i just have to keep moving. steam rising from the stovetop standing next to someone’s body is so erotic to me. it starts with a color then it spreads to an inexplicable shade of that human. i wish i could’ve spent a life with you, watching your movements change as you grow more and more into your skin.

[ghostqueenofthesun]

Fact:

oysterbunnies is the definitive sweetest human alive.

[oysterbunnies]

This made me melt-smile and clasp my hand to my chest. Alice here is one of the kindest, funniest, bravest, and most righteous human beings I know. You all will like her too.

[indifferent-red-blog]

i have found what you are like the rain,            (Who feathers frightened fields with the superior dust-of-sleep. wields easily the pale club of the wind and swirled justly souls of flower strike the air in utterable coolness deeds of green thrilling light                                  with thinned newfragile yellows                      lurch and.press —in the woods                      which                              stutter                                        and                                              sing And the coolness of your smile is stirringofbirds between my arms;but i should rather than anything have(almost when hugeness will shut quietly)almost,                  your kiss

e. e. cummings, “i have found what you are like”