Gender identity du jour: Jay-Z’s verse in Missy Elliott’s One Minute Man.


I want to go to there.

To feel anything deranges you. To be seen feeling anything strips you naked.

— Anne Carson, from Red Doc (via synaesthes—ia)

All day, every day. 


Typology of icebergs. Photography by Magda Biernat.

Not enough. Not yet.

This week’s theme: hustle.

"You’re too young to be a professor."

"You’re too young to be a professor."

I discovered The Silent Woman, Janet Malcolm’s portrait of Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes, last fall and read it in just one sitting, the book in one hand and a champagne flute of white wine in the other. I had recently broken all of my wine glasses. I did not break them all at the same time. Some I broke while cleaning, and I was upset that I had managed to destroy something while trying to make it clean, make it better. Other glasses were broken using more theatrical methods, smashing them against walls to prove points. I had also recently broken my bed frame, cracked a rib, and wrecked a series of valuable relationships. Broken things had become my metric. It was fall and this book fell on my head in the Strand. It was fall and everything was falling out of place. It was fall and I felt, constantly, as if I were in a state of vertigo. I could go on. I won’t.

The Last Book I Loved: The Silent Woman by Michelle King. (via therumpus)
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