Ramble and Muse

greatcosplay: Wonder Woman

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 21:49:26 -0400

greatcosplay:

Wonder Woman

highlandvalley: 京橋にて激怖物件発見した

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 19:38:27 -0400

highlandvalley:

京橋にて激怖物件発見した

tangiblesoul: trynabecarefree: That little girl at the end is...

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 17:27:42 -0400

tangiblesoul:

trynabecarefree:

That little girl at the end is like fuck yes

I’ve been waiting for this gifset lol

#colorado is absolutely gorgeous. What a great day for a...

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 15:36:20 -0400

#colorado is absolutely gorgeous. What a great day for a #roadtrip. #personal

chudobs: someone has waited their entire life to put that title...

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 15:16:40 -0400

chudobs:

someone has waited their entire life to put that title to use and if he is not promoted immediately i am calling the l.a. times and complaining

Jalapeño cheddar elk #hotdog courtesy of #BikerJim. #colorado...

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 14:33:00 -0400

Jalapeño cheddar elk #hotdog courtesy of #BikerJim. #colorado #denver #food #fatassery #ngonqua #mapditstatus #personal #roadtrip

At the famous Biker Jim’s #hotdogs! #roadtrip #denver...

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 14:32:08 -0400

At the famous Biker Jim’s #hotdogs! #roadtrip #denver #colorado #personal

jostamon: Sarla Thakral, first Indian woman pilot (from...

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 13:05:37 -0400

jostamon:

Sarla Thakral, first Indian woman pilot (from Vivchavan).

Flying through #Colorado on our way to #Denver! #roadtrip...

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 11:15:43 -0400

Flying through #Colorado on our way to #Denver! #roadtrip #personal

tvspecial: chickensandwich: tvspecial: someone ride me where are you taking me church

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 10:54:38 -0400

tvspecial:

chickensandwich:

tvspecial:

someone ride me

where are you taking me

church

Making waffles at the Days Inn in Ogallala, NE. #breakfast...

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 10:27:07 -0400

Making waffles at the Days Inn in Ogallala, NE. #breakfast #waffle #food #fatassery #ngonqua #mapditstatus

Photo

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 08:43:44 -0400

Photo

Wed, 19 Jun 2013 06:33:21 -0400

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Wed, 19 Jun 2013 04:22:11 -0400

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Wed, 19 Jun 2013 02:11:09 -0400

vimeo: TOKYO CITY SYMPHONY by roppongi hills

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 21:49:35 -0400

vimeo:

TOKYO CITY SYMPHONY by roppongi hills

thenewmsmarvel: I laughed WAY more than I should have…

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 19:38:35 -0400

thenewmsmarvel:

I laughed WAY more than I should have…

Almost missed it! Hello #omaha #nebraska! #roadtrip #personal

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 18:23:03 -0400

Almost missed it! Hello #omaha #nebraska! #roadtrip #personal

"In sixth grade Mrs. Walker slapped the back of my head and made me stand in the corner for not..."

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 17:27:46 -0400

“

In sixth grade Mrs. Walker
slapped the back of my head
and made me stand in the corner
for not knowing the difference
between persimmon and precision.
How to choose

persimmons. This is precision.
Ripe ones are soft and brown-spotted.
Sniff the bottoms. The sweet one
will be fragrant. How to eat:
put the knife away, lay down newspaper.
Peel the skin tenderly, not to tear the meat.
Chew the skin, suck it,
and swallow. Now, eat
the meat of the fruit,
so sweet,
all of it, to the heart.

Donna undresses, her stomach is white.
In the yard, dewy and shivering
with crickets, we lie naked,
face-up, face-down.
I teach her Chinese.
Crickets: chiu chiu. Dew: I’ve forgotten.
Naked: I’ve forgotten.
Ni, wo: you and me.
I part her legs,
remember to tell her
she is beautiful as the moon.

Other words
that got me into trouble were
fight and fright, wren and yarn.
Fight was what I did when I was frightened,
Fright was what I felt when I was fighting.
Wrens are small, plain birds,
yarn is what one knits with.
Wrens are soft as yarn.
My mother made birds out of yarn.
I loved to watch her tie the stuff;
a bird, a rabbit, a wee man.

Mrs. Walker brought a persimmon to class
and cut it up
so everyone could taste
a Chinese apple. Knowing
it wasn’t ripe or sweet, I didn’t eat
but watched the other faces.

My mother said every persimmon has a sun
inside, something golden, glowing,
warm as my face.

Once, in the cellar, I found two wrapped in newspaper,
forgotten and not yet ripe.
I took them and set both on my bedroom windowsill,
where each morning a cardinal
sang, The sun, the sun.

Finally understanding
he was going blind,
my father sat up all one night
waiting for a song, a ghost.
I gave him the persimmons,
swelled, heavy as sadness,
and sweet as love.

This year, in the muddy lighting
of my parents’ cellar, I rummage, looking
for something I lost.
My father sits on the tired, wooden stairs,
black cane between his knees,
hand over hand, gripping the handle.
He’s so happy that I’ve come home.
I ask how his eyes are, a stupid question.
All gone, he answers.

Under some blankets, I find a box.
Inside the box I find three scrolls.
I sit beside him and untie
three paintings by my father:
Hibiscus leaf and a white flower.
Two cats preening.
Two persimmons, so full they want to drop from the cloth.

He raises both hands to touch the cloth,
asks, Which is this?

This is persimmons, Father.

Oh, the feel of the wolftail on the silk,
the strength, the tense
precision in the wrist.
I painted them hundreds of times
eyes closed. These I painted blind.
Some things never leave a person:
scent of the hair of one you love,
the texture of persimmons,
in your palm, the ripe weight.

”

- Li-Young Lee, “Persimmons” (via calypsoed)

Photo

Tue, 18 Jun 2013 15:16:34 -0400