February 2012
310 posts
So the new mulch makes the entire quad smell like horseradish.
I didn’t read the assignment for Gillum’s class this morning, because it was “assorted poetry” and he never quizes us when it’s an assortment of writers.
I didn’t feel groggy when I woke up this morning, which is cool. I looked into the mirror, and realized I was wearing a Bob Marley t-shirt,...
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Alan Ginsberg, "The Wild Orphan"
Blandly mother takes him strolling by railroad and by river —he’s the son of the absconded hot rod angel— and he imagines cars and rides them in his dreams, so lonely growing up among the imaginary automobiles and dead souls of Tarrytown to create out of his own imagination the beauty of his wild forebears—a mythology he cannot inherit. Will he later hallucinate his gods? Waking ...
effin' hilarious →
Robert Frost, "Stopping By Woods On a Snowy...
Whose woods these are I think I know. His house is in the village though; He will not see me stopping here To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer To stop without a farmhouse near Between the woods and frozen lake The darkest evening of the year. He gives his harness bells a shake To ask if there is some mistake. The only other sound’s the sweep Of easy wind...
