time to transfer
There’s such an amazing feeling when you finish your last english, paper crumple it up, and throw it at your professor’s face
criticism one can trust is not easy to find
Un minuto di silenzio a tutte le notti insonni passate a dedicare pensieri fatti della stessa sostanza dei nostri sentimenti a persone fatte della stessa essenza delle teste di cazzo.
—Michele Prencipe (via vialemanidagliocchi)
the train is slowing before it’s stop, but he won’t make it to the first before the arrest is over. watching his progress, i knew he would push through the cars, opening doors, breaking the law to achieve his prized position. he’s in his early 50’s. the 50’s of a hard working, ethnic man. he is well built but notably lopsided. he brushed some nuisance from his lip, which is regularly, although laboriously shaved, and now that the train has reached a reasonable pace, he begins judging the length of his journey. I saw the thought take him, and he glanced into the car. it was less than a look, an abrupt calculated probe. how many people would he have to conquer. the question came, because the conductors sermon had started again. I’m not sure he heard them, but I know, and I know he knew, the rhythm. the tension when the doors have been open too long and the less-fortunate, still waiting in the station pews have had enough of the staring contest.
If you want to make a difference, start saying “her or his”
we would do anything to hurt each other
i assure myself, head bowed with my arms making a wide circle in front of me, with the muscles of my spine relaxed but attentive to deviance, slouching but formed, that I am just one of billions. “what does it matter anyway?” i might have been terrified by this before. i have to live for more than what I’ve been told is important. and for more than I can see, because i’ve had my eyes closed for a very long time. i’m in darkness starved for feeling. perchè intimita e personale
All you have, all you can say, is that you made due or you didn’t . You were or you weren’t
The explosive nature of the black male is well noted. Exercise caution when handling.
a person walked up to me while I was waiting for my bus. i thought she was lost, but she asked if I had a metrocard. i told her i did and she asked if it was unlimited. i told her it was and she apologized. she was going to offer me a transfer.
i really wasn’t made for cities. i don’t give a shit about art, words, success, or victory. i can’t wait to finish sentences so i can stop talking, and thinking, and being sentenced. i don’t care about what people are wearing, and i don’t want to be on fucking tv. i don’t want the latest phone, i don’t care about who’s dating, i don’t like that song, i want to enjoy my heat, but not like a tourist in melanin.
artful shit has a practical purpose for me. a person like you would probably tell me life is interesting, but how does that matter when if I don’t calm down, if I don’t appreciate beauty, if I don’t meditate and stay healthy then I become fucking unstable
the best way a white or white passing person can give back is by accepting themselves for what they are. pleasant and often cordial beneficiaries of one of the greatest evils of humanity
There should be a lane for “cool” people to walk in
there’s something to that quieting and closing. there’s no happiness in it, no endgame, goal, or other form of pain relief. it’s all pretty blank and when one gets better, there are no words for it. what you call fulfillment I sleep through and my orgasms would kill you. thank god it also gets worse than death or I’d have to share this with all the other preachers.
aren’t those tense ethnic kids scary?
i would rather spend my life chiusa e triste than become an idiot for comfort. that’s my fucking problem.
I read all of this and thought I was cool for a second.
what truly scares me is the thought, that once i start the core lit curriculum i won’t be able to get a’s for papers written while sleep deprived three hours before the end of the 2 week deadline
the problem with island girls: they’re the same as island boys. eh?
i stopped thinking of pictures as beautiful quite a while ago. i see prisoners and kids making funny faces
my last class of the semester is tomorrow.
no italy. apparently i’ll get first priority if i apply next year, but i don’t know :/
some jamaicans get so happy because they can just talk to me. what’s strange is that i’m so happy to listen
you wouldn’t believe the amount of museum tumblrs i wasn’t following
and a buncha otha more shit: I get to live with my best friend. I’m very fortunate to have a mother...
I get to live with my best friend. I’m very fortunate to have a mother that’s cool with me and a lover living at home rent free (though I’m sure some of it is guilt for signing those promissory notes). I’m very fortunate to not have to drive to Georgia every time I need an iota of love. I do my…
