Blood Pools Under My Tongue Where The Words Should Be. Id Kiss You But I Wouldnt Want To Make A Mess.

i. angels must think that love is one sided. angels do not understand love like we do, their languages are too dissimilar from our own. how can something with so many eyes only see forward. i think they like that we try, though. i mean, we do send them little gifts. poems and prayers and lonely mornings. they send us back coffee and cupcakes and a little hope under our tongue. in this way, we are both parts of the universe, trying to care for each other.

ii. i tell my dad i think angels are probably made from flowers. there's an angel in charge of every petal. angels are in toast. angels are in gasoline; it's why they burn with holy fire and why motor oil smells so good.

iii. to my dog i am an angel. he tells me he loves me in the language we have both decided is our code - he presses his head against mine, and we both sigh. i cannot love like an animal, which would be better for me - the unname love, without speech.

iv. i think my angel is plucking her feathers from stress. it must be very hard, to love something that is intent on destroying itself.

v. sometimes it is enough to love something, i mean. pressing our fingers to the mirror and breathing our little lives into the fog. today is a hard one, though. maybe tomorrow you and i can be an angel for the bird outside, and watch it take flight. we'll both know we love it, in our own private language - and give our heart into it. i'll be the angel of daybreak. you can be the angel of dawn. we can both collect the spray of the world and spin it into yarn.

saving eye contact for marriage

The corruption disquiets me so, so very much. People don’t like disease, they don’t like insects, not usually, evolution has taught us that they might bite, might burrow, might feed on you until you itch, or hurt, or die.

So what does it do? It gives you something that you do want. It envelops you in an all consuming love. It wraps its filth around you in dizzying circles until you’re swept off your feet, and you want it. You want to be surrounded with the filth, you want to share its embrace, your obsession, your happiness. And the love isn’t right. It’s love, but 15° northeast, it’s ill, and diseased, and it controls you, but it doesn’t hurt you, does it? Because you are more love than you are human now, not filth, not disease, not corruption, no. Love. Love that has replaced your essence with something that is crawling, something that yearns to spread. Fuck, man.

In case the term is unfamiliar to anyone, your Golden birthday is when the age you're turning coincides with the date you were born. Say if I was born on March 18th, my golden birthday would be when I turned 18 :)

Throwing Children by Ross Gay

answer some questions and I’ll tell you what kind of straight person you would be

He is zen

“Public libraries are such important, lovely places!” Yes but do you GO there. Do you STUDY there. Do you meet friends and get coffee there. Do you borrow the FREE, ZERO SUBSCRIPTION, ZERO TRACKING books, audiobooks, ebooks, and films. Have you checked out their events and schemes. Do you sign up for the low cost courses in ASL or knitting or programming or writing your CV that they probably run. Do you know they probably have myriad of schemes to help low income families. Do you hire their low cost rooms if you need them. Have you joined their social groups. Do you use the FREE COMPUTERS. Do you even know what your library is trying to offer you. Listen, the library shouldn’t just exist for you as a nice idea. That’s why more libraries shut every year

garlic is the most evil fucking thing on planet earth. that and silver.

is peanut butter a liquid or solid