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100 Beautiful and Ugly Words
One of the many fascinating features of our language is how often words with pleasant associations are also quite pleasing on the tongue and even to the eye, and how many words, by contrast, acoustically and visually corroborate their disagreeable nature — look no further than the heading for this post.
(Source: photosetavenue)
The Great Gatsby Extended Trailer features Lana Del Ray’s new single “Young and Beautiful.” What a stunning video!!!!!!!
The Fisherman’s Wife
by Shara McCallum
Each day I will make you
a meal of fish heads soaked
in scallions, scotch bonnets, vinegar,
and wine; cassava pounded flat
beneath my fists, then fried crisp;
roasted plantains; soursop juice
teased with lime. At dusk
before your return, I will
bathe in rose water, oil my scalp,
polish my skin till it glistens
in the coming moonlight
like mother-of-pearl washed ashore.
In time, you will forget
the painted dusk calling you back;
the surf rupturing herself again and again
for the sand’s fleeting touch;
the flamboyant sun rising
from beneath the ocean’s shell:
her heat swirling across your face
like Salome’s last veil come undone.
(Source: lilbarbzmonster, via jennaanne01)
A paradox. After turning the machine on, its only function is to turn itself off.
I watched this for a good 5 minutes. Therefore, it deserves a reblog.
it’s a parabox.
(Source: liquidatomicgonads, via deduction-to-seduction)
"Even now, I cannot lose the memory of scent.
It leads me to pomegranates, halved, lying on a table,
the globes of puckered skin are red as my own lips.
This is the season of abduction — fruit pulled
from branches and vines. The dense perfumes
of fresh jams and pies slice the slow dawn.
The maples and oaks turn thin and gray
with their testimony of bruised and bloodied leaves.
Drawn to the sanguine, tart sweet, ripe aroma,
hundreds of lusting eyes, I touch the dark
texture and remember my love’s rough hands,
the frantic tear and pull of desire.
I hand my money to the farm boy, grab
the pomegranate —no, I don’t need a bag—
and rush away to home. Pulling it apart,
the ruby juice bleeding out on my fingers and dress,
I close my lips around the flesh
and dream of the man my husband used to be."
J.P. Dancing Bear, “Persephone at the Farmer’s Market” (via atomiclanterns)
(via sylviia)
(Source: towards-a-new-horizon, via frenchpeas)
Sure signs you grew up in Texas.
Made me cry. Sometimes it is real hard being up North for college.
