August 2012
31 posts
Aug 26th
407 notes
Aug 26th
124 notes
Aug 26th
16,273 notes
Rare Words
I say dysphoria and aureate all the time but the others are new to me whitehotvelvet: acosmist - One who believes that nothing exists paralian - A person who lives near the sea aureate - Pertaining to the fancy or flowery words used by poets  dwale - To wander about deliriously sabaism - The worship of stars dysphoria - An unwell feeling aubade - A love song which is sung at dawn eumoirous -...
Aug 26th
100,801 notes
Orange Was The Colour Of her Dress, Then Silk...
paulaskew: I don’t know why, but I’m imagining you listening to Charles Mingus and smoking a Gauloises. Everything changes with the dusk; your dress, your hair, your lipstick, the way you move. In deeper light, you become the evening, just as you had been the day. The song’s still playing as you slowly undress, turning into night. You click your fingers and I come.
Aug 26th
1 note
Aug 25th
Aug 25th
1 note
mercury
then it started raining again, it got unseasonably grey. i was no longer a resident here but a guest looking up at the mountainous  clouds thinking: “where did this all come from?”. i was the morning after. the later and the latter. “tomorrow” is the word i use for “perhaps”. my  internal thermometer has broken. my insides are glistening with  mercury. my dreams...
Aug 21st
2 notes
Aug 19th
1 note
The Junior Progression
A @LukeKennard poem remixed using the Oulipo school’s ‘N+7’ technique - take each substantive noun of an existing poem and then replace it with the word seven words down from it in a dictionary. I didn’t just do the substantive nouns, I did various other words too when I saw it fit. I used a really, really old dictionary too. Then, I took the remixed poem and rewrote it in...
Aug 10th
7 tags
Aug 7th
26 notes
Aug 7th
1 note
Aug 7th
the scorpion and the frog, all parts.
this is from an ongoing project i’m writing called the scorpion and the frog.  1.  Manchester evenings back when I didn’t breathe with Manchester, buzzing under neon lights until we get back home, where it sleeps under lamps that give a hushed-up glow. We sit on the baclony and look over the back of the city. The natural mordents of your voice better than any music. You’d say...
Aug 6th
4 notes
Aug 5th
34 notes
Aug 5th
3 notes
Aug 4th
1 note
Aug 4th
1 note
Aug 4th
4 notes
Aug 4th
7 notes
Aug 4th
9 notes
2 tags
Aug 4th
1 note
Aug 3rd
Aug 3rd
1 note
Aug 3rd
7 notes
Aug 3rd
2 notes
Aug 2nd
11 notes
Aug 1st
68 notes
Aug 1st
7 notes
Aug 1st
8 notes
Aug 1st
10,083 notes