The sun flung spangles, dancing coins.

[thunderstruck9]

Jack Butler Yeats (Irish, 1871-1957), Single File, 1949. Oil on board, 22.9 x 35.6 cm.

[parqustate]

Their imaginations were flywheels on the ramshackle machinery of the awful truth.

Breakfast of Champions by Kurt Vonnegut

[kerfluffle]

It flows purling, widely flowing, floating foampool, flower unfurling.  —James Joyce

[vintagesaltbackup]

Back to the Future (dir. Robert Zemeckis, 1985)

[marvel-dc-art]

Gambit v5 #9 - "A Man Walks Into a Bar..." (2013) pencil by Clay Mann ink by Seth Mann, Clay Mann, & Allan Martinez color by Rachelle Rosenberg

[12cd12c-deactivated20220922]

[parqustate]

Drab creatures I sometimes desert for handsome dancers and hoodlums;

Our Lady of the Flowers by Jene Genet

[parqustate]

His eyes grew softer and softer, until there was no gaze left, until they were merely two holes through which the sky passed.

Our Lady of the Flowers by Jene Genet

[parqustate]

The livest of worlds, human being with the tenderest flesh, are made of marble.

Our Lady of the Flowers by Jene Genet

[parqustate]

As cemetery flowers sprout from corpses. He emerges from you through your eyes, your ears, your mouth.

Our Lady of the Flowers by Jene Genet

[parqustate]

His head is a singing copse

Our Lady of the Flowers Jene Genet

[parqustate]

Then, it is another sob's turn to be born, then another's. I swallow them all and spit them out in wisecracks.

Our Lady of the Flowers by Jene Genet

[parqustate]

it Must be awfully nice having the dead for neighbors!

Our lady of the flowers by Jene Genet

[parqustate]

But all I have ever found has been an occasional phrase scratched on the plaster with a pin, formulas of love or revolt, more often of resignation: “Jojo of the Bastille loves his girl for life.”

Our Lady of the Flowers by Jene Genet

[fleurishes]

I’m writing this on my parents’ couch because broke, because bills need to get paid, because my friends are taking vacations at other people’s houses. The first time I walked home I couldn’t find my street. I swear my heart’s so heavy it would dent plaster if you threw it. I’m a thick cloud of desperate running and where did I leave my other self? Feed the starving girl but don’t let her become greedy. Don’t let her out of the house.  I’m telling you man, scent memories are a scary thing when you’re shopping for candles with your best friends and suddenly you’re back in that house on that street in that basement where he said it wouldn’t hurt and it did and worse, you came back for more. Feed the starving girl but don’t let her become greedy.  She will get used to the salt, will part herself for it.  Voice like sweet, voice like syrup, voice like how you say “I met a boy!” When Alisha’s not around I try to read my own palms. I open my mouth to sing and everyone says, “Girl, shit, you got a voice for the radio." A sad boy is not your fault, not my fault, not anyone’s. But I’ll sing  to him. You kiss him or you don’t, mouth open, mouth hungry. Feed the starving girl but don’t forget about the boy on top of her, even hungrier, eyes big as fists. She’s only a window until he turns her into a door.

Kristina Haynes, “Feed the Starving Girl” (via fleurishes)

[parqustate]

Read Relative Loss by Parqustate Le Brocquy with Kobo. With the Death of their Great Uncle four siblings come to terms with the loss and what it means to them.

Take some time, relax, and have some fun reading this amazing short story today. Let Me know what you think. Written and thought of by myself

[parqustate]

he opened his eyes, which had been wide open all the time, but had seen only thoughts, and saw

Orlando by Virginia Woolf.