Sara. 21. Drama student at NYU. From Philadelphia. Likes sentence fragments.
Last.fm/Facebook/Photos I've Taken
These people are doing some great things.
“There’s a lot of beauty in ordinary things. Isn’t that the point?”
Celebratory junior-year-of-college-is-over pizza.
I had this poster but it was red instead of blue and John Darnielle signed it in pencil outside of the TLA in Philadelphia. It was on my wall in my tiny freshman dorm and then I lost it along with every other poster that was on my wall that year. I had a lot of good posters but this may have been my favorite.
Thanks to Dylan, Bruce is now proudly gracing our front hallway.
People are animals, it’s true,
but maybe they should try a little harder
also to be human beings.
Nina Katchadourian - Sorted Books
“I suddenly recalled a moment in the university library when, looking for a book, I had turned my head sideways as I walked down the stacks and thought how spectacular it would be if all the titles formed an accidental sentence when read one after the other in a long chain. Standing amidst the bookshelves in Half Moon Bay, my next move was simply to make this imaginary accident real. I spent days shifting and arranging books, composing them so that their titles formed short sentences. The exercise was intimate, like a form of portraiture, and it felt important that the books I selected should function as a cross section of the larger collection.”
First Aid Kit - Heavy Storm
I wish I could believe in something bigger
More than these trees, these winds, these oceans
I wish I could believe what they tell me
Last night the apple trees shook and gave each lettuce a heart
Six hard red apples broke through the greenhouse glass and
Landed in the middle of those ever-so-slightly green leaves
That seem no mix of seeds and soil but of pastels and light and
Chalk x’s mark our oaks that are supposed to be cut down
I’ve seen the neighbors frown when they look over the fence
And see our espalier pear trees bowing out of shape I did like that
They looked like candelabras against the wall but what’s the sense
In swooning over pruning I said as much to Mrs. Jones and I swear
She threw her cane at me and walked off down the street without
It has always puzzled me that people coo over bonsai trees when
You can squint your eyes and shrink anything without much of a
A struggle ensued with some starlings and the strawberry nets
So after untangling the two I took the nets off and watched birds
With red beaks fly by all morning at the window I reread your letter
About how the castles you flew over made crenellated shadows on
The water in the rainbarrel has overflowed and created a small swamp
I think the potatoes might turn out slightly damp don’t worry
If there is no fog on the day you come home I will build a bonfire
So the smoke will make the cedars look the way you like them
To close I’m sorry there won’t be any salad and I love you
I may not get any sleep tonight because (as usual) I procrastinated on a paper
and we are running Richard III twice tomorrow
and I can’t figure you out
but it was so warm today that I had to take off my coat when I was walking to class
and I cut my own hair last night (again) and it looks good.
The last poem in Selma Meerbaum-Eisinger’s notebook, via the Writers No One Reads Tumblr. The niece of Paul Celan, Meerbaum-Eisinger died at the age of eighteen of typhus in the Mikhailovska labor camp. Fifty-seven poems survived in a notebook titled Blütenlese (Harvest of Blossoms).Tragedy:
Dec. 23, 1941
This is the hardest: to give yourself
and know that you are unwanted,
to give yourself fully and to think
that you vanish like smoke into the void.
Translation by Pearl Fichman.
do not speak.
That is what
have left us
you can only
in your voice,
place in this
to speak for
the dead, but
- Jason Schneiderman