I’ve been spending most of my time on this new blog— the shadow self—and I’m considering deleting this one (anathemawasteland) altogether :(

This new one is awesome, I think you’ll all like it. So please check it out and follow if you feel so compelled.

Love you all (really, I do.)


Filling Station

BY ELIZABETH BISHOP





Oh, but it is dirty!
—this little filling station,
oil-soaked, oil-permeated
to a disturbing, over-all
black translucency.
Be careful with that match!
Father wears a dirty,
oil-soaked monkey suit
that cuts him under the arms,
and several quick and saucy
and greasy sons assist him
(it’s a family filling station),
all quite thoroughly dirty.
Do they live in the station?
It has a cement porch
behind the pumps, and on it
a set of crushed and grease-
impregnated wickerwork;
on the wicker sofa
a dirty dog, quite comfy.
Some comic books provide
the only note of color—
of certain color. They lie
upon a big dim doily
draping a taboret
(part of the set), beside
a big hirsute begonia.
Why the extraneous plant?
Why the taboret?
Why, oh why, the doily?
(Embroidered in daisy stitch
with marguerites, I think,
and heavy with gray crochet.)
Somebody embroidered the doily.
Somebody waters the plant,
or oils it, maybe. Somebody
arranges the rows of cans
so that they softly say:
esso—so—so—so
to high-strung automobiles.
Somebody loves us all.   

Filling Station

BY ELIZABETH BISHOP

Oh, but it is dirty!
—this little filling station,
oil-soaked, oil-permeated
to a disturbing, over-all
black translucency.
Be careful with that match!

Father wears a dirty,
oil-soaked monkey suit
that cuts him under the arms,
and several quick and saucy
and greasy sons assist him
(it’s a family filling station),
all quite thoroughly dirty.

Do they live in the station?
It has a cement porch
behind the pumps, and on it
a set of crushed and grease-
impregnated wickerwork;
on the wicker sofa
a dirty dog, quite comfy.

Some comic books provide
the only note of color—
of certain color. They lie
upon a big dim doily
draping a taboret
(part of the set), beside
a big hirsute begonia.

Why the extraneous plant?
Why the taboret?
Why, oh why, the doily?
(Embroidered in daisy stitch
with marguerites, I think,
and heavy with gray crochet.)

Somebody embroidered the doily.
Somebody waters the plant,
or oils it, maybe. Somebody
arranges the rows of cans
so that they softly say:
esso—so—so—so
to high-strung automobiles.
Somebody loves us all.   
"The gaps and black holes in the texture of Gogol’s style imply flaws in the texture of life itself. Something is very wrong and all men are mild lunatics engaged in pursuits that seem to them very important while an absurdly logical force keeps them at their futile jobs—this is the real “message” of the story."

— Vladimir Nabokov, Lectures on Russian Literature (via ivankaramazovs)

(via thebardofavon)

"

When did we become so small and so apologetic? Why do we apologize for our humanity? Love what you love, and make no apologies. This is your identity. The most horrendous suspensions of freedom are self-imposed. We imprison ourselves daily, hourly.

We have one life, one shot at all the glorious things of life, and we walk about constricted, apologetic, afraid. We have so little time; we have so little space upon which to spread our love and our talents and our kindness. Run toward life fulsomely and freely.

It runs from us so quickly, like a frightened dog or youth or daylight. Chase it and care for it.

Of course art should be about something big. Something terribly big must be at stake. I don’t see this anymore. Our art is becoming terribly polite and apologetic, much like us. It slinks away like a sagging breast, empty of milk or promise or comfort.

We need to get very fervent again. We need to get jacked up.

"

Tennessee Williams: We Have One Life

(via fuckyeahgreatplays)

(via creme-eclipse)

"I am tired of knowing nothing and being reminded of it all the time."

— F. Scott Fitzgerald’s Tender is the Night (via fuckyeahfitzgerald)

(via quasimomentum)

odditiesoflife:

Private Study Rooms of Famous People

  1. Ray Bradbury was an American fantasy, science fiction, horror and mystery fiction writer. Best known for his dystopian novel Fahrenheit 451 and for the science fiction and horror stories gathered to gether as The Martian Chronicles (1950) and The Illustrated Man (1951), Bradbury was one of the most celebrated 20th-century American writers. Many of Bradbury’s works have been adapted into comic books, television shows and films.
  2. Alfonse Mucha was a Czech Art Nouveau painter and decorative artist, known best for his distinct style. He produced many paintings, illustrations, advertisements, postcards, and designs.
  3. Charles Darwin was an English naturalist. He established that all species of life have descended over time from common ancestors, and proposed the scientific theory that this branching pattern of evolution resulted from a process that he called natural selection.
  4. Theodore Roosevelt, Jr. was the 26th President of the United States. He is noted for his exuberant personality, range of interests and achievements, and his leadership of the Progressive Movement, as well as his “cowboy” persona and robust masculinity.
  5. Sigmund Freud was an Austrian neurologist who became known as the founding father of psychoanalysis.
  6. Thomas Edison was an American inventor and businessman. He developed many devices that greatly influenced life around the world, including the phonograph, the motion picture camera, and a long-lasting, practical electric light bulb.

(Source: iliketowastemytime.com, via nickydriscoll)

aseaofquotes:

Emily Dickinson, The Complete Poems

aseaofquotes:

Emily Dickinson, The Complete Poems

"It was good to walk into a library again; it smelled like home."

— Elizabeth Kostova, The Historian (via larmoyante)

(via nogreatillusion)

inneroptics:

 ALLEN GINSBERG-Annie Leibovitz

inneroptics:

 ALLEN GINSBERG-Annie Leibovitz

(via iamapatientboy)

"You can’t eat books, sweetheart."

— Markus Zusak, in The Book Thief. (via hiperbole)

(Source: rozovaya, via aubeurgine)

aseaofquotes:

Augusten Burroughs, This Is How

aseaofquotes:

Augusten Burroughs, This Is How

"A poem begins with a lump in the throat."

— Robert Frost (via petrichour)

(Source: hopeinspiresme, via pancakespancake)

"I am tired of knowing nothing and being reminded of it all the time."

— F. Scott Fitzgerald (via 13neighbors)

(via nogreatillusion)

"I really don’t know what ‘I love you’ means. I think it means ‘Don’t leave me here alone.’"

—  Neil Gaiman (via knifedolly)

(Source: wordsthat-speak, via pancakespancake)

Tags: neil gaiman