Writings

This is where I keep writing stuff

[fuckingwhateverdude]

5.28.23

[oldfarmhouse]

And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.

— F. Scott Fitzgerald (via oldfarmhouse)

[creatingnikki]

This summer give me clementine crushes and words like nectar. A touch so healing, eye contact so simulating, I feel a bubble appear. It’s not one without fear, a bubble is a bubble after all. But clinging is not something I have ever done when it comes to summer. I’ll let it go, I’ll let it go when June is over. 

Clementine will leave a trail of citrusy scent that will linger in nooks of my body, comforting me, and those I hug with love. And the nectar? Of course, I would have drunk it whole. Thirst, too, is a function of summer, didn’t you know?

[apoemaday]

The Sun

by Mary Oliver

Have you ever seen anything in your life more wonderful than the way the sun, every evening, relaxed and easy, floats toward the horizon and into the clouds or the hills, or the rumpled sea, and is gone– and how it slides again out of the blackness, every morning, on the other side of the world, like a red flower

streaming upward on its heavenly oils, say, on a morning in early summer, at its perfect imperial distance– and have you ever felt for anything such wild love– do you think there is anywhere, in any language, a word billowing enough for the pleasure that fills you, as the sun reaches out, as it warms you as you stand there, empty-handed– or have you too turned from this world– or have you too gone crazy for power, for things?

[archiveofyearning]

OPPOSITE SIDES OF WANTING TO BE GOOD 

Japanese Breakfast, Slide Tackle // Mary Oliver, Wild Geese // Patti Smith, Woolgathering // Andrea Dworkin, Our Blood // Saul Bellow, Herzog // Mitski, I Will // Florence Welch, Useless Magic // Clarice Lispector, The Hour of the Star // Mary Oliver, Dogfish // John Steinbeck, East of Eden. 

[lunamonchtuna]

— Mary Oliver, Invitation

[alas-pooryorick]

                    

On Friendship, Falling in Love and Falling Apart, pt. 2 (pt. 1, pt. 3, pt. 4)

Ode to Friendship, Noor Hindi

The Truth Has Three Sides, Sabrina Benaim

I've Got a Dark Alley and a Bad Idea That Says You Should Shut Your Mouth (Summer Song), Fall Out Boy

Autumn, Patty Dickson Pieczka

Unknown

Unknown

Nature Poem, Chen Chen

Planet of Love, Richard Siken

Ever Yours: The Essential Letters, Vincent Van Gogh

Just Like Heaven, The Cure

Speeches for Dr. Frankenstein, Margaret Atwood

The Dialogue of Desire and Guilt, J.D. McClatchy

Someplace Like Montana, Ada Limón

Cold Solace, Anna Belle Kaufman

Fleabag (2016-2019)

Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out, Richard Siken

Your Love Finds Its Way Back, Sierra DeMulder

The Diaries of Katherine Mansfield

Moments, Mary Oliver

[metamorphesque]

musings on June

1.anne sexton (“the truth the dead know”), 2. anne sexton (“suicide note poem”), 3. mary oliver (“august”), 4. l.m. montgomery (“anne of the island”), 5. morgan parker (“the black saint & the sinner lady & the dead & the truth”), 6. found poems: sylvia plath / peter k. steinberg (“percy key among the narcissi”) artwork by hugo grenville

buy me a coffee  

[petaltexturedskies]

mary oliver, red bird

[fairydrowning]

Zoë Lianne, "Erasure"

Mary Oliver, "Felicity"

Emily Bronte, "Wuthering Heights"

[petaltexturedskies]

June, July, August. Every day, we hear their laughter. I think of the painting by van Gogh, the man in the chair. Everything wrong, and nowhere to go. His hands over his eyes.

August by Mary Oliver

[firstfullmoon]

Christopher Citro, from “The Hay Out There and the Hay in You”

[primulaceas]

Mary Oliver, "Little Crazy Love Song." Blue Horses

[semicolonsoliloquy]

I’ve never made it through summer without a sunburn.

I’ve never made it through summer without a dozen mosquito bites,

broken open like geodes, the canary-yellow glimmer

of dried pus where the itching

is inescapable. For three months,

summer is inescapable.

.

I go to my room alone in the dark

to cover myself in aloe vera and tears,

and summer follows me, the heat of it

heavy like a body, like a crowd of bodies

at a party, an invisible dance party

that follows me around; and nobody

at the party will look at me or talk to me

or scooch to the left to let me leave,

.

and they whisper in the languages

of insects and lightbulbs, saying

who invited that visible girl,

and why isn’t she dancing?

What a weirdo, sobbing in the corner

and smearing toothpaste on her welts

because she read on the internet that it 

might help.

.

But what else can I do?

It’s summer, and all of me

is tight and itching,

like something healing,

or something lonely, or something alive.

[serratedpens]

Catherine Pierce

[fearbehere]

learning to be my mother

What We Become, Hailey Noecker / Mirror Traps, Hera Lindsey Bird / unknown / On Earth We’re Briefly Gorgeous, Ocean Vuong / legitimately fucking dean winchester from supernatural / Elektra, Sophokles / When I Grow Up I Want to Be a List of Further Possibilities, Chen Chen / The White Dress, Nathalie Leger / Sharp Objects, Gillian Flynn

[bruciemilf]

Did I daydream this, or was there a website for writers with like. A ridiculous quantity of descriptive aid. Like I remember clicking on " inside a cinema " or something like that. Then, BAM. Here's a list of smell and sounds. I can't remember it for the life of me, but if someone else can, help a bitch out <3

[bruciemilf]

I FOUND IT BITCHES

[dramono]

This is going to save me so much trouble in the future.