May 2012
172 posts
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John Updike on people, objects, and permanence →
beauty would not exist without a spot of ugliness to keep it humble
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summer spring (written by me)
by the look of things, like the light, for instance, coming in like a bouquet of molted feathers, i’m feeling ready, finally, to go down for the night. to sleep, disregarding the dense clouds of redefined water slipping in under windowsills, distracted ghosts from the shower i’d taken earlier in the day. it was about nine a.m. and the mirror, i remember, came foggy and sweating, my face looking...