Her appearance was indeed remarkable - strange almost beyond the reach of adjectives. Larger and a little taller than her husband, who, beside her, with his fresh pink face, briar pipe and conventional tweed coat, had a somewhat boyish or undergraduateish air, she resembled a puissant blend of both sexes - Lady Chatterley and her lover rolled into one, I recollect a contemporary humorist observing.
Peter Quennell recalls meeting Vita Sackville-West in Customs and Characters
, 1982. (via sangfroidwoolf
I know girls who spill I’m sorry’s from their mouths like they pump blood
to their veins.
Sometimes, I am one.
I know girls who apologize for asking
to go to the bathroom in class,
who apologize for everything
because they feel like they are taking
up more than their fair share of space
on this planet.
Everything starts with an I’m sorry
and ends with one too,
constant bookends that we don’t
even notice anymore.
We delete her apology the way we
delete likes and ums from speech.
I know girls with ten times more apologies
and I wonder how often they hear
You’re more than okay.
AnonymousDo you have Instagram?
Sorry Anon, I do not have an instagram. I know well I’d likely never use it. I do have a pinterest, though? (that’s not even a comparable social media medium…)
Charles II spent a good deal of money on a good deal of pointless things, whilst his people were starving; one of these was a mock-planetarium where the alignment of the planets formed the shape of a phallus. One night, Rochester, returning to the palace extremely drunk after an evening of debauchery in the King’s gardens, stops dead at the sight, considers it for a long minute, and then, upon finding the visual joke, demands of it in a shout, “WHAT, DOST THOU STAND THERE TO FUCK TIME?!???”
my lecturer dropped in this anecdote in the Rochester lecture this morning i wAS LAUGHING SO HARD (via thepurposeofplaying)
…WAIT GUYS TURNS OUT IT GETS EVEN BETTER
NOT ONLY DOES HE YELL AT IT HE THEN SMASHES IT UP
HE SMASHES THE KING’S BEAUTIFUL DELICATELY-CRAFTED GLASS DICK-PLANETARIUM
He knows I spent the morning with kittens and is trying to prove none can out cute him.
spent the morning at Grandma’s, but really I spent the morning with a bunch of kittens.
The first time he calls you holy,
you laugh it back so hard your sides hurt.
The second time,
you moan gospel around his fingers
between your teeth.
He has always surprised
you into surprising yourself.
Because he’s an angel hiding his halo
behind his back and
nothing has ever felt so filthy
as plucking the wings from his shoulders—
undressing his softness
one feather at a time.
God, if you’re out there,
if you’re listening,
he fucks like a seraphim,
and there’s no part of scripture
that ever prepared you for his hands.
Hands that map a communion
in the cradle of your hips.
Hands that kiss hymns up your sides.
He confesses how long he’s looked
for a place to worship and,
you put him on his knees.
When he sinks to the floor and moans
like he can’t help himself,
you wonder if the other angels
fell so sweet.
He says his prayers between your thighs
and you dig your heels into the base of his spine
until he blushes the color of your filthy tongue.
You will ruin him and he will thank you;
he will say please.
No damnation ever looked as cozy as this,
but you fit over his hips like they
were made for you.
You fit, you fit, you fit.
On top of him, you are an ancient god
that only he remembers and he
offers up his skin.
And you take it.
Who knew sacrifice was so profane?
And once you’ve taught him how to hold
your throat in one hand
and your heart in the other,
you will have forgotten every other word,
except his name.
please stop getting mad at cashiers for prices they have no control over
Or not being able to take your expired coupon.
or not being able to break any rule that is store or company policy
Or not being able to make the manager come up to the cash register any quicker
The last thing they do when they go to bed, and the first in the morning, is to remind God to damn their eyes, tongue, liver, pluck, heart and soul, and this they do more than a thousand times a day.
A New Jersey colonist commenting on the prodigious swearing of British soldiers during the American Revolution. (via bantarleton