The world is full of injuries. The world is full of love and soaring, unlimited gratitude and elation. There is darkness waiting for you, and there is deep love and joy waiting for you, too.
i have grown more slowly
in a more filthy, familial
but i love you
He was as thin as the blade he carried and as pale, as blind as things shiver beneath soil. He did not touch her or say her name. He did not lift a finger. He stood with his head bowed, lonely. She thought of the flowers in her mother’s garden, their bright colors, their perfume. She thought of the flowers that grew, unloved, in the corner, purple as a bruise, as the eyes of a corpse. She was not carried away.
Tape the sound of your baby son crying. Let him listen to the tape when he is going through pain as a grown man.
— Yoko Ono (@yokoono) July 21, 2014
When I was thirteen, I had a friend who used to like to take morbid pictures. She would insist we dress up like corpses, lipstick smeared red across our mouths, our shirts pulled down low, exposing bras filled with more padding than flesh. We took turns perfecting a stare that looked through the camera, through each other. When my mother found the pictures, she cried. She asked me why we did it — why did we want to dress up like the dead. I told her I didn’t know.
I don’t know how true that is. There was something thrilling about it: We were performing possibilities — the gruesome ways we could be hurt, made glamorous through cheap make up and the flash on a disposable camera. We staged them, shot them, bought and paid for them. They were ours.
This is not about my neighborhood or my city not caring about me, or having the audacity to change over time. The city can’t care about me or want me or miss me; it’s just a place…It’s made up of people who create and disappoint, who sometimes stay and sometimes move on, and don’t always care about what they leave behind.
from There Goes the Neighborhood by Jaya Saxena
Ever since I got back from vacation, I’ve been thinking about leaving NYC. I almost did it in March, with my former roommate, Liz, who I visited in Denver. She was never a city girl — she needed mountains and trees in a way that used to make me (secretly) roll my eyes, but since visiting, I’m starting to get it. Denver was like being a little kid again, when I used to go camping with my cousins each summer. I hiked and biked, went white water rafting, and spent a day running around barefoot in a park playing volleyball and ultimate frisbee. I like the feel of Denver. And even though I’m more of a beach-girl, I can see the allure of the mountains. (And also the allure of the breweries located in those mountains.)
Here are all the ways you don’t become good at kissing: