My desk after a long day at work (Taken with Instagram at Tao of Tea warehouse)
This is “Room B” - the drums and bags are full of pounds of herbs and spices. It is the best smelling room in Portland, hands down.
This one time, I graduated college.
Against Rothko
after Robert Hass
I
In the life we lead together
every paradise is borrowed,
six-month lease, movies
unwatched—
so little we need to own.
In our constant motion,
we are shored and soundless
as glass buoys, waiting out the ceremony of
our red-pale skin: oysters on the
bay, sun-wet and infrequent
in our attention to detail.
At night, after hours
listening to Sam Cooke and Wagner,
we imagine our Ipods
as dusty records, speak through clumsy
gesture—we are not
dancers in Matisse, our hands
unlinked against our skin,
we are not even figures in Goya.
No, we are intruders in Rothko,
the painted over pair, noting shades
of red against our skin, mahogany
dusted under our nails. Unseen against the
primed canvas, we are free to move
in any meter—our waltz reserved
for the background colors,
attentive to our footwork.
Apollonian in our reserve, ravenous
in our longing to break through the
red wash, black laquer, we move
from couch to kitchen, lips
pursed, feet pointed inward.
Our whispering begs response,
to pulse against our fabric,
press our knees together, and dance
in the steam of simmering tomatoes.
II
Because it has taken you
three months to reply,
I will write your letters for you.
Your pen is missing, but if
I am careful, I can simulate
your hand, alter the pigment
to match your Waterman-blue,
arc the top of each L, and trail
the tail of your indulgent g.
(Source: rmooney)
(Source: newyorker.com, via newyorker)
fucking stoked.
![Betsy Von Furstenberg [Reading a script in a windowsill.] 1950](http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m35oo1tQbg1qe8frpo1_250.jpg)
Betsy Von Furstenberg [Reading a script in a windowsill.] 1950
(via neil-gaiman)
