It rained yesterday, Dad.
Thinner, more graceful
than Korean rain,
Baltimore rain wet my umbrella
and my nostalgia
for your beard
that I never touched
not because it had thorns or
I did not love you,
but I feared,
too shy maybe,
being your charming daughter.
I thought that was enough
to long for. Yet, your wrinkled
hands, waving
at the airport when I leave
you with grandma in Korea,
got rougher,
colder and whiter
though they’ve remained manly
in my small heart.
Under the rain yesterday,
while I was having a cup of coffee
at a café alone,
you suddenly called me at two
in the afternoon,
three in the Korean morning.
You told me you just drank
three cans of beer,
and that was all you said.
Did you remember to shave today?
You didn’t wear the same suit
you wore yesterday, did you?
I wanted to know how you’d been
or why you were up so late
but I couldn’t.
It rained yesterday, Dad.
It’s almost two in the afternoon.
(Source: runawayparade.com)
“You can write at any time people will leave you alone and not interrupt you. Or rather you can if you will be ruthless enough about it. But the best writing is certainly when you are in love.” — Ernest Hemingway
“Metes and Bounds (fMolly),” etching with spit bite aquatint by Hillary Giacomelli
“Open-fire,” hand cut collage by Inas Al-soqi
“
great writers are indecent people
they live unfairly
saving the best part for paper.
good human beings save the world
so that bastards like me can keep creating art,
become immortal.
if you read this after I am dead
it means I made it.”
(via hundredsofcharacters)
“Alfa,” oil painting by Oksana Prokopenko
“The purpose of a writer is to keep civilization from destroying itself.”
— Albert Camus
“Metes and Bounds (For M),” etching with spit bite aquatint by
Hillary Giacomelli
Mouthfuls of rain
spread slander over my rooftop;
I don’t know your eyes anymore.
If I look down,
I’ll see someone else’s
nipple peaks ascending
from pale savannah to
areola apex, and if
my fingers make
the cautious climb
I will be numb as if
learning a stranger.
Remember my details
as the shapes and shadows
you left me in; remember
the gaping jaws set and
craterous fields of cheekbone
you neglected to sow,
the seeds of freckles that were gathered
and planted without design.
Remember a patchwork of expressions
sewn by rows of hands
mostly yours
your fingerprints rooted
in the clay of my earth.
Remember me like that, and
each evening gather the grains of me
you have hoarded away, greedy.
Corpus canvas replaces itself unnoticed.
I’ll be tracing the contours of my body,
pretending these hands belong to someone else.
“We may sit in our library and yet be in all quarters of the earth” — John Lubbock (via mellifluousbookshelf)
(via hundredsofcharacters)
[video]
“The Place,” mixed media by Jenny Leonard
“Don’t bend; don’t water it down; don’t try to make it logical; don’t edit your own soul according to the fashion. Rather, follow your most intense obsessions mercilessly.” — Franz Kafka
good:
A Library for the Subway
- Adele Peters posted in Design, Product Design and TechnologyLet’s say you’re stuck on the F train, trying to ignore the person coughing on you, a screaming baby, and a someone staring creepily. (No, I’m not describing my morning). Wish you hadn’t forgotten a book? Here’s an interesting idea from a group of design students: using tech to bring you the first 10 pages of a popular book on your phone, and then telling you the nearest public library where you can go pick up the actual book. Nice way to possibly get more people back in libraries.
(via englishmajorsaftergraduation)
“You never have to change anything you got up in the middle of
the night to write.”
— Saul Bellow