Almost There

she-works: FP, DC We want to hear from women: What’s your note...

Mon, 20 May 2013 08:54:31 -0400

FP, DC

We want to hear from women: What’s your note to self – a piece of advice that’s helped you at work? Share your advice at http://she-works.tumblr.com

she-works: Anonymous We want to hear from women: What’s your...

Mon, 20 May 2013 08:48:34 -0400

she-works:

Anonymous

We want to hear from women: What’s your note to self – a piece of advice that’s helped you at work? Share your advice at http://she-works.tumblr.com

she-works: LP, Ann Arbor, MI We want to hear from women:...

Mon, 20 May 2013 08:46:11 -0400

she-works:

LP, Ann Arbor, MI

We want to hear from women: What’s your note to self – a piece of advice that’s helped you at work? Share your advice at http://she-works.tumblr.com

"All this Beethoven and rain."

Sun, 19 May 2013 20:46:51 -0400

“All this Beethoven and rain.”

- Michael Ondaatje (via commovente)

the cinnamon peeler's wife: Song On The Subway

Sun, 19 May 2013 13:12:32 -0400

the cinnamon peeler's wife: Song On The Subway:

commovente:

by Oscar Vuong

Rush-hour on the A rain. A blind man
staggers forth, his cane tapping lightly
own the aisle. He leans against the door,

raises a violin to chin, and says I’m sorry
to bother you, folks. But please. Just listen.
And it kills me, the word sorry. As if something like music

…

"I used to be gold. First prize collarbones, atomic number 79. I think of our bodies..."

Mon, 13 May 2013 09:59:16 -0400

“

I used to be gold. First prize
collarbones, atomic number
79.

I think of our bodies unhinging.
Dismantling a masterpiece we
worked so hard to build with
creased hands. A workshop of
cracking spines to straighten out
the way we would slouch.

Maintenance was: drilling openings
inside each others joints, stitching
ligaments, embroidering our hopes
beneath surfaces in cryptic codes
unseen.

When I arrived I was sun. Already
sweltering inside your pores,
glazing skin in honey residue.
My promises rinsed over in drizzling
rain, marinating your bones, flooding,
breaking into the current network
of your nerves.

Often, all I have are promises.

It starts with a loud rumbling noise
from the inside out, a vicious clap of
thunder rendering breathing patterns
defenceless. An expansion of pressure
that is too close for comfort.

When I think of slipped disks,
they remind me of those stepping stones
we crossed towards the Colosseum
we had in our minds.

We hung expectations from our shoulders.

Self depreciation is a gale force wind
who knocks once, twice, strikes fragility
down with her fury—ungluing the grip
beneath my feet, begging that I get familiar
with my knees.

She says, “You’re going to have to look at
them up close if you want to learn how to assess damage.”

When I unzipped my ribcage I saw those
impressions that you’d left on my heart,
ransacked awareness told me you’d been
here, moulding yourself between my
ventricles.

Last night I set a fire,
and watched as it burn the end
of the rope that I’d been holding
to keep you
close.

”

- Lauren Flynn, “I used to be gold.” (via commovente)

"After learning my flight was detained 4 hours, I heard the announcement: If anyone in the vicinity..."

Wed, 08 May 2013 09:38:57 -0400

“

After learning my flight was detained 4 hours,
I heard the announcement:
If anyone in the vicinity of gate 4-A understands any Arabic,
Please come to the gate immediately.

Well—one pauses these days. Gate 4-A was my own gate. I went there.
An older woman in full traditional Palestinian dress,
Just like my grandma wore, was crumpled to the floor, wailing loudly.
Help, said the flight service person. Talk to her. What is her
Problem? we told her the flight was going to be four hours late and she
Did this.

I put my arm around her and spoke to her haltingly.
Shu dow-a, shu- biduck habibti, stani stani schway, min fadlick,
Sho bit se-wee?

The minute she heard any words she knew—however poorly used—
She stopped crying.

She thought our flight had been canceled entirely.
She needed to be in El Paso for some major medical treatment the
Following day. I said no, no, we’re fine, you’ll get there, just late,

Who is picking you up? Let’s call him and tell him.
We called her son and I spoke with him in English.
I told him I would stay with his mother till we got on the plane and
Would ride next to her—Southwest.

She talked to him. Then we called her other sons just for the fun of it.

Then we called my dad and he and she spoke for a while in Arabic and
Found out of course they had ten shared friends.

Then I thought just for the heck of it why not call some Palestinian
Poets I know and let them chat with her. This all took up about 2 hours.

She was laughing a lot by then. Telling about her life. Answering
Questions.

She had pulled a sack of homemade mamool cookies—little powdered
Sugar crumbly mounds stuffed with dates and nuts—out of her bag—
And was offering them to all the women at the gate.

To my amazement, not a single woman declined one. It was like a
Sacrament. The traveler from Argentina, the traveler from California,
The lovely woman from Laredo—we were all covered with the same
Powdered sugar. And smiling. There are no better cookies.

And then the airline broke out the free beverages from huge coolers—
Non-alcoholic—and the two little girls for our flight, one African
American, one Mexican American—ran around serving us all apple juice
And lemonade and they were covered with powdered sugar too.

And I noticed my new best friend—by now we were holding hands—
Had a potted plant poking out of her bag, some medicinal thing,

With green furry leaves. Such an old country traveling tradition. Always
Carry a plant. Always stay rooted to somewhere.

And I looked around that gate of late and weary ones and thought,
This is the world I want to live in. The shared world.

Not a single person in this gate—once the crying of confusion stopped
—has seemed apprehensive about any other person.

They took the cookies. I wanted to hug all those other women too.
This can still happen anywhere.

Not everything is lost.

”

- Naomi Shihab Nye (b. 1952), “Wandering Around an Albuquerque Airport Terminal.” I think this poem may be making the rounds, this week, but that’s as it should be. (via oliviacirce)

wilwheaton: samaralex: megsokay: STOP IT, self-help manatee....

Sat, 04 May 2013 00:14:29 -0400

wilwheaton:

samaralex:

megsokay:

STOP IT, self-help manatee. I actually just cried because of LAST MONTH.

Thank you, self-help manatee. I needed that.

This is just beautiful.

thelostsunprincess: rhymeswrachel: nakedartichokesflog: Go...

Wed, 01 May 2013 13:51:05 -0400

thelostsunprincess:

rhymeswrachel:

nakedartichokesflog:

Go Philly! Love these ads.

cognitivedissonance:

This is what people see as they commute to work in Philly.

Hollaback Philly is absolutely doing it right.

100% doing it right

Really liking that there’s a campaign that deals with street harassment. Although perhaps the message should be, don’t harass people, instead of yell back at them. Not everyone has the circumstances to be able to yell back. There are obvious safety concerns, as well as the simple fact that not one time that I’ve yelled back has that helped for the better at all…

I saw it as a call to bystanders to not just walk by but call someone out, not necessarily the victim calling them out. The victim knows what street harassment is. I saw it as a campaign for the bystanders. So if someone is harassing a woman, his buddy next to him would call him out. Not the victim.

troyesivan: one day i will stop reblogging this gifset today is...

Sat, 27 Apr 2013 18:43:41 -0400

troyesivan:

one day i will stop reblogging this gifset

today is not that day

coverspy: The Sisters Who Would Be Queen, Leanda de Lisle (M,...

Sat, 27 Apr 2013 18:41:56 -0400

coverspy:

The Sisters Who Would Be Queen, Leanda de Lisle (M, 30s, beard, blue shirt, plaid tie, brown jacket, red bag, 4 train) http://bit.ly/YRJI9A

mockingwords: You’re Probably Not Really a Nice Guy (x)

Thu, 25 Apr 2013 13:28:24 -0400

mockingwords:

You’re Probably Not Really a Nice Guy (x)

birdonwing: masterofpowerslaves: rec0rrupted: My absolute...

Thu, 25 Apr 2013 13:15:07 -0400

birdonwing:

masterofpowerslaves:

rec0rrupted:

My absolute favourite cat ever. This is a manul, or pallas cat. Found in the Afghan mountains, they’re one of the oldest pure-blood cousins of our own goggies.

they look like fat balls of rage

Just gonna leave this here

That last picture looks so much like how I imagined the Cheshire cat. I didn’t know that expression was possible on a real cat. Whoa.

About me: I was not a fan of my outfit this morning until I put on a scarf. Now I fell infinitely...

Tue, 23 Apr 2013 08:44:38 -0400

About me: I was not a fan of my outfit this morning until I put on a scarf. Now I fell infinitely classier and happy.

The people who say you can’t buy happiness don’t own enough scarves.

"i woke without you and the igloo seeming colder. i could peek out the crawl-hole but if the..."

Sat, 20 Apr 2013 09:41:05 -0400

“i woke without you and the igloo
seeming colder. i could peek
out the crawl-hole but if the entire
spinning earth’s imaginary i don’t want to know.
i have my pelts and visions
of you asleep in your summer skin loving
the deep heart of a tall grass prairie.
i have polar bears and snow
blindness. you have sunsets
striking the silent crows iridescent.
when they swoon to their own new beauty
and the chorus frogs kick in, do you think
of me thinking of you thinking of me?
i tell you what. if i had an albatross
i’d let it lift me like a message
to the jet stream just as the toothy flows
ingest our empty love-shell. you would know me
by the touch of ice on the tongue
of the wind. you would wait with a bouquet
of black feathers and the rest of
our story still warm on your lips.”

- “the moments before the crash landing are clearest,” Andrew Michael Roberts

(via commovente)

oupacademic: “True is it that we have seen better days”, As You...

Thu, 18 Apr 2013 22:10:44 -0400

oupacademic:

“True is it that we have seen better days”, As You Like It, Act 2, Scene 7

Get into Shakespeare for Shakespeare Day on 23 April, with the Oxford World’s Classics. For more from the OWCs, you can find them on Facebook and Twitter.

REBLOG IF YOU WANT LOVE LETTERS IN YOUR IN BOX NOW

Thu, 18 Apr 2013 22:03:28 -0400

the cinnamon peeler's wife: "The Average Fourth Grader Is A Better Poet Than You, (And Me Too)," Hannah Gamble

Wed, 17 Apr 2013 10:59:24 -0400

the cinnamon peeler's wife: "The Average Fourth Grader Is A Better Poet Than You, (And Me Too)," Hannah Gamble:

commovente:

While in graduate school at the University of Houston, I supplemented my income by working as a writer in residence for Writers in the Schools (WITS). I was with WITS for three years, during which I visited third, fourth, and fifth grade classrooms, and worked with groups of students visiting the…

"Plus I read a women’s magazine article called “5 Fabulous Morning Rituals,” and it said that after..."

Wed, 17 Apr 2013 10:25:11 -0400

“Plus I read a women’s magazine article called “5 Fabulous Morning Rituals,” and it said that after you “bask in bed” and “walk in nature” you’re supposed to “ponder the sins of the conquistadors.””

- Sarah Vowell, The Partly Cloudy Patriot (via okthenitsjess)

Things that are awesome

Tue, 16 Apr 2013 23:06:11 -0400

When you’re getting married in a month (!!!) and your best friend/ coffee buddy just randomly drops off the face of the earth, except not really, because she is talking to everyone except you. Because you know, that is really just fantastic timing.