Slouching Towards Bethlehem

[thenordroom]

Serene airbnb in Bergen, Norway

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[seanwoolsey-blog]

[delta-breezes]

My Scandinavian Home

[the-devil-wears-zara]

[kathryngreenbaum]

I dreamed I called you on the telephone to say: Be kinder to yourself but you were sick and would not answer

The waste of my love goes on this way trying to save you from yourself

I have always wondered about the left-over energy, the way water goes rushing down a hill long after the rains have stopped

or the fire you want to go to bed from but cannot leave, burning-down but not burnt-down the red coals more extreme, more curious in their flashing and dying than you wish they were sitting long after midnight

Adrienne Rich, For The Dead

[firsthome]

[modellesbians]

Holy fuck my cousins got nominated for a fucking GRAMMY for best dance album!!! Go Sylvan Esso go!!!

[unamusedsloth]

“Vicious” Leopard seal tries to keep national geographic photographer alive by feeding him penguins.

[slouching-toward-bethlehem]

why did this blog fade away?

Got bored, got busy, turned nearly 30, lots of life! 

[slouching-toward-bethlehem]

I MISS YOU. WHY ARENT YOU UPDATING YOUR PAGE? LOVE FROM SWEDEN.

wow hi! I disappeared from Tumblr for about 3 years - just got a bit bored with it and am finally seeing these now! 

[nevver]

Dell'incisione, Frederica Galli

[oofpoetry]

Give me the strongest cheese, the one that stinks best; and I want the good wine, the swirl in crystal surrendering the bruised scent of blackberries, or cherries, the rich spurt in the back of the throat, the holding it there before swallowing. Give me the lover who yanks open the door of his house and presses me to the wall in the dim hallway, and keeps me there until I’m drenched and shaking, whose kisses arrive by the boatload and begin their delicious diaspora through the cities and small towns of my body. To hell with the saints, with martyrs of my childhood meant to instruct me in the power of endurance and faith, to hell with the next world and its pallid angels swooning and sighing like Victorian girls. I want this world. I want to walk into the ocean and feel it trying to drag me along like I’m nothing but a broken bit of scratched glass, and I want to resist it. I want to go staggering and flailing my way through the bars and back rooms, through the gleaming hotels and weedy lots of abandoned sunflowers and the parks where dogs are let off their leashes in spite of the signs, where they sniff each other and roll together in the grass, I want to lie down somewhere and suffer for love until it nearly kills me, and then I want to get up again and put on that little black dress and wait for you, yes you, to come over here and get down on your knees and tell me just how fucking good I look.

Kim Addonizio, “For Desire” (via oofpoetry)

[a-joyfuljourney]

Hailey DeRoo Haugen

[essential-tremors]

She said, “If one does solitude right, this is the prize.” But what if I don’t want this prize? I am here sending out smoke signs deep into the night: beacon, signal, saint. Do not make the mistake of building a home or a life around a person who has not yet proven worthy of that love. For it is like building a house of the driest wood, and deciding to make a fire for warmth - it will all go up in flames. I guess maybe it was wrong to think that you hung the stars. Maybe it was misplaced. Let’s call my autobiography Los Angeles for the Heartbroken. Last night, I ate so many cherries that I was sick to my stomach. I am alone in my night bed, where darkness cleaves my word in two. We’ve done this before, where you disappear like a ghost into the night. It’s exhausting. You are here in the smallest ways - still important, still beating within me. I’ve become weirdly sentimental about water glasses left on my kitchen table - which one you drank from last, where your lips may still mark the glass. I loathe to wash them - it feels like washing away a bit of you. I think I fell in love with you when you told me That you’d been on Tray 1 of Invisalign for years now. What would have sounded noncommittal to most I found unbearably attractive. Here are some things you have taught me: That I have the intuition of water - I leave no room for you to be anything other than honest with yourself. What it means to feel seen, bright and haloed with light. Where my darkness lies, deep between my shoulder blades, and that you are the only one who can see it sometimes. Perhaps there is still a possibility of grace between us.

(via essential-tremors)

[essential-tremors]

Upstairs / Downstairs

Over dinner of wine and meaty stew, I describe the things most precious, the things most throbbing with life. Downstairs, we do not touch - upstairs is another story. Here, we learn nouns and adjectives. I want to give you the adverbs to describe the beating of my heart. Take your palms in mine. Everything else falls away. These are the small gifts of longing. 

What does love look like when it’s staring you in the face, saying come in, dinner’s ready - and then the words you speak only with your hands - come upstairs and kiss me, peel back my skin and make me whole. 

You would never admit to such hunger downstairs, where our bodies are quiet with one another. You make soup while I pour the wine, waiting for the moment when you’ll ask me to stay. 

[sharkiegorath]

Babylon: Liz Garvey = somewhat less problematic fave 

“I read the script, and it was a provocative character. I’d never seen anyone like her. She was powerful and interesting, but also vulnerable and complicated - and broken in some ways, but had a lot of great ideas.” - Brit Marling, on Liz (x)

[slouching-toward-bethlehem]

Honestly one of my favorite TV characters of all time. 

[afadthatlastsforever]

One day, whether you are 14, 28 or 65 you will stumble upon someone who will start a fire in you that cannot die. However, the saddest, most awful truth you will ever come to find–– is they are not always with whom we spend our lives.

Beau Taplin, “The Awful Truth”  (via femmeinnest)