aaronmerrill:

GpoyPermission to drink more coffee: granted

aaronmerrill:

Gpoy

Permission to drink more coffee: granted

(Source: allheartcare)

bornagainfromtherhythm:

The Beautiful Flight Paths of Fireflies by Tsuneaki Hiramatsu

(via mrsmogulsays)

I wanted to see where beauty comes from
without you in the world, hauling my heart
across sixty acres of northeast meadow,
my pockets filling with flowers.
Then I remembered,
it’s you I miss in the brightness
and body of every living name:
rattlebox, yarrow, wild vetch.
You are the green wonder of June,
root and quasar, the thirst for salt.
When I finally understand that people fail
at love, what is left but cinquefoil, thistle,
the paper wings of the dragonfly
aeroplaning the soul with a sudden blue hilarity?
If I get the story right, desire is continuous,
equatorial. There is still so much
I want to know: what you believe
can never be removed from us,
what you dreamed on Walnut Street
in the unanswerable dark of your childhood,
learning pleasure on your own.
Tell me our story: are we impetuous,
are we kind to each other, do we surrender
to what the mind cannot think past?
Where is the evidence I will learn
to be good at loving?
The black dog orbits the horseshoe pond
for treefrogs in their plangent emergencies.
There are violet hills,
there is the covenant of duskbirds.
The moon comes over the mountain
like a big peach, and I want to tell you
what I couldn’t say the night we rushed
North, how I love the seriousness of your fingers
and the way you go into yourself,
calling my half-name like a secret.
I stand between taproot and treespire.
Here is the compass rose
to help me live through this.
Here are twelve ways of knowing
what blooms even in the blindness
of such longing. Yellow oxeye,
viper’s bugloss with its set of pink arms
pleading do not forget me.
We hunger for eloquence.
We measure the isopleths.
I am visiting my life with reckless plenitude.
The air is fragrant with tiny strawberries.
Fireflies turn on their electric wills:
an effulgence. Let me come back
whole, let me remember how to touch you
before it is too late.

—Stacie Cassarino, Summer Solstice
(via grammatolatry)

(via nogreatillusion)

I will not set fire to myself
to keep you warm.

—(via jennayliu)

(Source: havoicc, via mattnathanson)

Sunday in the city | Neighborhood stoops bathed in early June sunlight, I forgot. The spring semester was long and cold.

Out of habit, masked as routine, I took the subway to the library this morning, but got off early. Quickly, without thinking. The lights on the train suddenly too dim, too much not-the-sun. Even the thought of the library too claustrophobic.

Lower Manhattan still empty, no lines for coffee, a few tourists wearing backpacks, and I thought I might be the luckiest. The shadows and the sun and the loneliness and the independence, and I might still be the luckiest, I forgot.

I followed the sun down the curved streets. The curviest streets in Manhattan? Through the park and found a bench in the sun. Beginnings and endings, I come here. A ritual now, the only ritual maybe, but almost two years old and very much mine. Lady Liberty, standing strong, always, with open arms. One year ago, I thought it was a beginning. But it turned into an ending, then looped itself into a middle. This year it is an ending, although I couldn’t tell you which one. I don’t pretend to know much of anything these days. I feel lighter this way, without the weight of the answers.

Pink shoulders pulled me out of the sun, and I meandered towards the subway. With a sharp right into the National Museum of the American Indian. Research, I thought. Instead, it was a deep reminder of the Saturdays I spent in the NMAI in DC from open to close. The hours I spent undoing the 9-5 and remembering how to breathe, how to live.

"It’s funny how life circles," I texted.

"Always does," came the instant reply.

Not research, I reminded myself. Deadlines, funding, summer job, I reminded myself. Finally got back on the subway. Walked the blocks to the library in the shadows of scaffolding. When I finally arrived, the security guard reminded me. The library is closed on summer Sundays. I forgot.

I remember now. All summer, I’ll be out in the sunlight. Beginning or endings or middles, I’ll be out in the sunlight.

Coffee brings warmth and comfort to my life. Part ritual, part relationship, part hope, having a cup in my hand feels as natural as holding a pencil. It stirs up memories and gratitude inside me.

—Nicole Johnson 

(Source: delta-breezes, via myownmelt)

americasgreatoutdoors:

Sunsets don’t get much better than this one over Grand Teton National Park. Photo: Robert McKinney (www.sharetheexperience.org)

Wanderlusting…

americasgreatoutdoors:

Sunsets don’t get much better than this one over Grand Teton National Park.

Photo: Robert McKinney (www.sharetheexperience.org)

Wanderlusting…

I have always been a reader; I have read at every stage of my life, and there has never been a time when reading was not my greatest joy. And yet I cannot pretend that the reading I have done in my adult years matches in its impact on my soul the reading I did as a child. I still believe in stories. I still forget myself when I am in the middle of a good book. Yet it is not the same. Books are, for me, it must be said, the most important thing; what I cannot forget is that there was a time when they were at once more banal and more essential than that. When I was a child, books were everything. And so there is in me, always, a nostalgic yearning for the lost pleasure of books. It is not a yearning that one ever expects to be fulfilled.

—Diane Setterfield, The Thirteenth Tale

(Source: thelibraryofminds, via essemgee)

Last night | A small piece of an almost-360-degree view of the city. It could have been someone else’s life, someone else’s NY. The midtown law firm, the mahogany cigar club, the leather-seated booth in a dimly lit restaurant, the rainy cab ride down the east side of the city. 

My New York has many more subway rides and pizza slices. I look up far more often than I look down. 

But last night, that was my life too, as much of a stranger as I felt to it. Work I’ve done for six years, I counted as I stood there listening to the acceptance speech. Faces I’ve known for almost as many. Official invitation because I am a “student” but those who know (those who are really on the inside) say only “how good it is to see you again.” 

After the applause, I left that world, the world where twenty-two year old me thought I’d spend my life, and walked alone, uptown a few blocks among the black suits to slip under the arm of a familiar black suit: “it is so good to see you.” We all left the smoke filled lounge for dinner around the block to talk about investments, but also to say again all the things we’ve said before, to pick it all up where we left it, to know which questions to ask and which to leave unspoken. To know and to be known. Last night was my life too, my New York too.

Last night | A small piece of an almost-360-degree view of the city. It could have been someone else’s life, someone else’s NY. The midtown law firm, the mahogany cigar club, the leather-seated booth in a dimly lit restaurant, the rainy cab ride down the east side of the city. My New York has many more subway rides and pizza slices. I look up far more often than I look down. But last night, that was my life too, as much of a stranger as I felt to it. Work I’ve done for six years, I counted as I stood there listening to the acceptance speech. Faces I’ve known for almost as many. Official invitation because I am a “student” but those who know (those who are really on the inside) say only “how good it is to see you again.” After the applause, I left that world, the world where twenty-two year old me thought I’d spend my life, and walked alone, uptown a few blocks among the black suits to slip under the arm of a familiar black suit: “it is so good to see you.” We all left the smoke filled lounge for dinner around the block to talk about investments, but also to say again all the things we’ve said before, to pick it all up where we left it, to know which questions to ask and which to leave unspoken. To know and to be known. Last night was my life too, my New York too.

humansofnewyork:

I went to Ireland a couple weeks ago to give a speech at University College Dublin. The students sent me a video clip from the portion of my speech where I took a member of the audience and demonstrated my approach and interview process. For those of you who are curious about such things, it’s a fun video and provides a pretty nice summation:

This is the best thing I’ve seen in a long time. It has the reflective quality of a TED talk and has me thinking about a lot of what he says. In no particular order:

- how interactions with strangers on the NYC streets have become part of my daily life and how I react to the different people who approach me every day;

- the energy I give off and the energy I receive;

- how to create intimacy quickly and conduct a good interview (methodologically);

- the importance of stories; and

- persistence, failure, and lessons learned.

Here is the crux of the matter, the distilled essence, the only thing you need to remember: When considering whether to say yes or no, you must choose the response that feels like freedom. Period.

—Martha Beck

leanin:

"Strong is the New Pretty" is a new photo series by Kate Parker which shows her two daughters and their friends "just as they are: loud, athletic, fearless, messy, joyous, frustrated. I wanted to celebrate them, just as they are, and show them that is enough.  Being pretty or perfect is not important. Being who they are is."

Photos by Kate T. Parker.

(via imadeyouamixtape)

And every day, the world will drag you by the hand, yelling, “This is important! And this is important! And this is important! You need to worry about this! And this! And this!” And each day, it’s up to you to yank your hand back, put it on your heart and say, “No. This is what’s important.

—Iain S. Thomas, I Wrote This for You

Working on this, currently.

(Source: larmoyante, via myownmelt)

NIGHTNIGHT by DEDDY