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hearts and wrists intact
20 May 2013 @ 01:53 am
After the game the boss congratulated Harper and the away fans stood in the stands singing and the boys walked over to applaud them because holy carp what a season and Per's hug made Rosa look tiny and Olivier carried Kos across the pitch and Bac sprayed water on everybody and fourth place never looked so good. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. I love you all. Happy St. Totteringham's.
hearts and wrists intact
06 May 2013 @ 02:56 pm
The more I think about the Mandarin's storyline in IM3, the more impressed I am by it.

Spoilers spoilers spoilers.Collapse )
hearts and wrists intact
01 May 2013 @ 11:12 pm
I know that as a football fan I'm kind of contractually required to say that if any team can pull back after losing the first leg 4-0 it's my team, but in this case it really is my team. Som i serem etc. See you all in three-ish hours.

ETA: Football is pain, highness. Anyone who says otherwise is selling something.
hearts and wrists intact
30 April 2013 @ 11:55 pm
Driving, Not Washing

It starts with bloodshed, always bloodshed, always the same
                                       running from something larger than yourself story,
shoving money into the jaws of a suitcase, cutting your hair
         with a steak knife at a rest stop,
and you're off, you're on the run, a fugitive driving away from
                                                 something shameful and half-remembered.
They're hurling their bodies down the freeway
                                                 to the smell of gasoline,
which is the sound of a voice saying I told you so.
                                                                       Yes you did, dear.
Every story has its chapter in the desert, the long slide from kingdom
         to kingdom through the wilderness,
                    where you learn things, where you're left to your own devices.
Henry's driving,
         and Theodore's bleeding shotgun into the upholstery.
It's a road movie,
         a double-feature, two boys striking out across America, while desire,
                   like a monster, crawls up out of the lake
with all of us watching, with all of us wondering if these two boys will
         find a way to figure it out.
                                                            Here is the black box, the shut eye,
the bullet pearling in his living skin. This boy, half-destroyed,
          screaming Drive into that tree, drive off the embankment.
                                                                          Henry, make something happen.

But angels are pouring out of the farmland, angels are swarming
          over the grassland,
Angels rising from their little dens, arms swinging, wings aflutter,
         dropping their white-hot bombs of love.
                                        We are not dirty, he keeps saying. We are not dirty...
                   They want you to love the whole damn world but you won't,
you want it all narrowed down to one fleshy man in the bath,
                                       who knows what to do with his body, with his hands.
It should follow,
         you know this, like the panels of a comic strip,
                   we should be belted in, but you still can't get beyond your skin,
and they're trying to drive you into the ground, to see if anything
                                                                                                   walks away.

- Richard Siken
hearts and wrists intact


I know that United already have the league won, but still.

(Please don’t screw this up, boys.)

ETA 2: I love how every other post in the Arsenal tag is basically “Fuck off, Robin van Persie”. Because seriously, fuck off, Robin van Persie. Hate is a strong word but you’re one of the two people for whom strongly dislike feels like a lie.

You better fucking win this one, boys.

ETA 3: But seriously, do you ever wonder if all the people going Why are you booing Van Persie you're so meeeean are watching the same figurative program as you are?
hearts and wrists intact
25 April 2013 @ 03:10 pm
You Will Hear Thunder

You will hear thunder and remember me,
And think: she wanted storms. The rim
Of the sky will be the colour of hard crimson,
And your heart, as it was then, will be on fire.

That day in Moscow, it will all come true,
when, for the last time, I take my leave,
And hasten to the heights that I have longed for,
Leaving my shadow still to be with you.

- Anna Akhmatova
hearts and wrists intact
24 April 2013 @ 03:28 pm

You were carried on your father’s shoulders

marching in Detroit’s picket lines

in the same year you were learning to run

from the word “union”.

That is only half of the reason

I am writing this from another city,

remembering Detroit,

the 12th story window of our hotel room

where you pointed to the square

where the crowds would gather their signs in 20 below weather,  

gray coats, gray hair, even on the young folks

but red hearts, engines built to outlast any factory design.

You always said the word “Michigan” like sweetest prayer.

Driving through the back roads near Lansing

I knew you would murder anyone in the car who made fun

of the plastic deer lawn ornaments.

You taught me good taste

is respecting good people

who keep the oven open in the winter to fight the overpriced cold.

We both believe good poems should come with that kind of heat.

But yours can convince a room full of 500 anarchist queers

to feed the plums of their hearts

to an old man who wakes at 6am every morning,

drives to the public school

to watch the janitor raise the American flag.

Everything I know about class

I learned from your lipstick color: Red State.

I still find it on my neck sometimes, pooling near my collarbone,

a lake big as the ocean

without the tide to bring you back to the shore.

You were never sure about me.

You watched all my pick-up lines drop things.

But I don’t play that game anymore.

I spend all of my time learning to bake a casseroles

in case the neighbor gets sick.

And I’ve already hung all my secrets on the clothesline.

You can look out the window

and see the last time I lied through my teeth

my jaw wouldn’t let me sleep for six months.

My conscience buzzed like one of those

terrible mosquito killing zapper machines.

I’ve finally learned love is a screened-in porch.

I’ve finally learned love is knowing everybody’s name

in the town of your reasons to run.

I’ve finally learned love prays

it won’t always live paycheck to paycheck,

but it always does,

even when it’s got “forever” on its lips.

Forever ago you gave me a doorknob as a gift.

I am still learning to be an open road

to the tree that can be climbed to safety.

I think we’re both still learning to believe

the union can always win. Michigan,

we all have hearts that wanna be old pick up trucks

permanently parked in someone’s front yard.

I’m gonna keep fixing mine up,

and someday you’re gonna be sure as the sun

it’s never gonna run.

- Andrea Gibson
hearts and wrists intact
24 April 2013 @ 03:51 am
What the hell, Barcelona.

While we’re kind of on the topic: Geri. Geri. Gerard Pique. I realise that you are not exactly the soul of rational decision-making, but whatever made you think that shaving all the hair off of the top of your head was a good idea in any way, shape, or form? Did you lose a bet? Inquiring minds.

ETA: Oh, seriously, screw you.

Dear Barcelona: I believe in your ability to overturn 4-0 deficits, just not that much. But no, really, I thought this kind of thing only happened to Arsenal.
hearts and wrists intact
22 April 2013 @ 06:27 pm
In my quest to find the three E.L. Konigsburg books I wanted to reread the most I found Franny and Zooey, all my other Konigsburgs, two copies of The Count of Monte Cristo, all my Toni Morrisons I thought I'd lost in the move, my grandmother's Austen compilation, and a very pretty hardbound of the complete Adam Smith. Why do we have a very pretty hardbound of the complete Adam Smith. Don't answer that question.

Bookshelf-deciphering problems aside: I haven't always loved E.L. Konigsburg's work, but I've always loved her voice, how she looked at art and the world and silence and speech, her smart-mouthed sharp-minded grounded preteen protagonists, her unwillingness to be lofty and her equal unwillingness to dumb herself down. Rest in peace, madam. The world was a better place for having you in it.

I picked up my pen and filled it properly, the six-step process that Tillie had taught me. She had said, "You must think of these six steps not as preparation for the beginning but as the beginning itself." I knew then that I had started my B&B. I let my pen drink up a whole plunger of ink and then holding the pen over the bottle, I squeezed three drops back into the bottle.

And I thought- a B&B letter is giving just a few drops back to the bottle. I put away the tiny notepad and took out a full sheet of calligraphy paper and began,

Dear Grandma Sadie and Grandpa Nate,
Thank you for a vacation that was out of this world...
hearts and wrists intact
22 April 2013 @ 04:25 pm

How funny you are today New York
like Ginger Rogers in Swingtime
and St. Bridget’s steeple leaning a little to the left

here I have just jumped out of a bed full of V-days
(I got tired of D-days) and blue you there still
accepts me foolish and free
all I want is a room up there
and you in it
and even the traffic halt so thick is a way
for people to rub up against each other
and when their surgical appliances lock
they stay together
for the rest of the day (what a day)
I go by to check a slide and I say
that painting’s not so blue

where’s Lana Turner
she’s out eating
and Garbo’s backstage at the Met
everyone’s taking their coat off
so they can show a rib-cage to the rib-watchers
and the park’s full of dancers with their tights and shoes
in little bags
who are often mistaken for worker-outers at the West Side Y
why not
the Pittsburgh Pirates shout because they won
and in a sense we’re all winning
we’re alive

the apartment was vacated by a gay couple
who moved to the country for fun
they moved a day too soon
even the stabbings are helping the population explosion
though in the wrong country
and all those liars have left the UN
the Seagram Building’s no longer rivalled in interest
not that we need liquor (we just like it)

and the little box is out on the sidewalk
next to the delicatessen
so the old man can sit on it and drink beer
and get knocked off it by his wife later in the day
while the sun is still shining

oh god it’s wonderful
to get out of bed
and drink too much coffee
and smoke too many cigarettes
and love you so much

- Frank O'Hara
hearts and wrists intact
20 April 2013 @ 11:42 pm
You know you're really fucking exhausted when you find that you've slept through your team's goal. Good one, Per.

ETA: I know that I am half asleep and kind of sleepwalking through this game and all, because unofficial social medicine week was great but the kind of exhausting you only feel as a crash when you get home, but how could I not have noticed that Sian Massey was on the line? What a great human being.

Now win this one, Arsenal.
hearts and wrists intact
12 April 2013 @ 08:44 am

I figured I had the time to do one more Fall Out Boy music post before disappearing for unofficial social medicine week. I figured it was going to be about Where Did the Party Go , which is at the same time How Punk is Like Sushi and Also the Catholic Church Part One, 100% Pete Wentz, and Fall Out Boy does Guilty Pleasure .

But then my darling boys did this interview, in which they were everything I loved about them ever, so Rat a Tat and How Punk is Like Sushi and Also the Catholic Church Part Two it is.

I'll let the boys speak for themselves:

Speaking exclusively to Gigwise, Pete Wentz said, "I think that it was important, in making an album that's got such an ambitious title about rock and roll, that girls know they have a place in rock and roll besides being coathangers for the dudes or groupies, or whatever. 

"So we wanted to get someone who had a seminal rock and roll voice and who was female, and Courtney literally has that voice. But also, she wrote those lyrics, she's all there."

When asked if he felt Love's talents as a musician had been overshadowed by her erratic behaviour in recent years, he agreed and said that at times Fall Out Boy's personal lives had overshadowed their creative output.

"It's unfortunate and I can totally understand and relate to her, because there's lots of times that things that we do get talked about more than the music."

He added, "There's a really savvy, interesting, creative person there and hopefully there'll be a new Hole song, or new Hole record, or a new Courtney Love record."

The band also spoke about their collaboration with up and comer Louisa Rose Allen, known as Foxes.

Fall Out Boy vocalist Patrick Stump said, "We just thought she had an awesome voice, and I think at the end of the day we really wanted to make a balanced record.

"You have somebody like Big Sean on, you have Elton, you have Courtney, and then I think we wanted somebody who was progressive and younger and had a great voice, but just maybe people hadn't heard of. She just sang beautifully, it was just a pleasure to hear her sing."

Save Rock and Roll as a whole sounds like a logical chronological progression of Fall Out Boy, and Rat a Tat is probably the closest-sounding to old school Fall Out Boy you're going to get from it. It fits with the sound of the whole album, and at the same time it's furious quick-paced teenage riotousness; it's almost staccato beats and a glittering blend of vocals, Patrick Stump's bouncy aural acrobatics (I kept wishing she had blonde ambition and she let it go to my head) and Courtney Love's ragged desperation (he says "I've seen bigger" she says "I've lit better" and they throw the matches down into the glitter). I'd love it even if it existed in a vacuum.

It doesn't. It exists explicitly because Fall Out Boy decided that if they were going to have an album called Save Rock and Roll it had to have female presence. They screw up a lot but I will always love them so much.

Because way back when it became okay to be so sick in the head the absence of suicidal ideation was the exception, because Pete Wentz once took a handful of Ativan in a Best Buy parking lot and he's still a pretty great human being. Because they did their best to drive home the point that gay is not a synonym for shitty, up to and including making it the title of a song. Because they know that the whole reason the 1970s were there was so that we didn't have to live them anymore; because rock has kind of ossified (don't make the joke), because rock and punk are in love with the institution, the capital R rock and roll, to the point that deviating from the set sound gets slapped with Not Rock and Roll Enough without taking ten seconds to consider that not following the authority was kind of the original point. Because as good as the music the institution made was it's mostly white dude music judged by white dude standards, its black roots shunted to the side, and the way to succeed to do well by white dude standards. And even if you're making great music if you're not a white dude there will be people drawing more attention to your life outside the music precisely because you're not a white dude, because you're the oddity.

And then these four guys made an album that basically said, look, we're making the music we want to make, that's the spirit if not the letter of rock and roll. And they wrote an angry pulsing teenage declaration-of-intent anthem and thought, if it's spirit of rock and roll. And they got Courtney in, which is !!!!! on our side but I suppose on the outside it's what reporters would call polarizing just because it's Courtney Love.

And. Well.
hearts and wrists intact
11 April 2013 @ 11:59 pm
This ain't a novel it's a god damn prose poem. (If it means anything, it's also one of my favorite novels.)


Cities and desire

At the end of three days, moving southward, you come upon Anastasia, a city with concentric canals watering it and kites flying over it. I should now list the wares that can profitably be bought here: agate, onyx, chrysoprase, and other varieties of chalcedony; I should praise the flesh of the golden pheasant cooked here over fires of seasoned cherry wood and sprinkled with much sweet marjoram; and tell of the women I have seen bathing in the pool of a garden and who sometimes- it is said- invite the stranger to disrobe with them and chase them in the water. But with all this, I would not be telling you the city's true essence; for while the description of Anastasia awakens desires one at a time only to force you to stifle them, when you are in the heart of Anastasia one morning your desires waken all at once and surround you. The city appears to you as a whole where no desire is lost and of which you are a part, and since it enjoys everything you do not enjoy, you can do nothing but inhabit this desire and be content. Such is the power, sometimes called malignant, sometimes benign, that Anastasia, the treacherous city, possesses; if for eight hours a day you work as a cutter of agate, onyx, chrysoprase, your labor which gives form to desire takes from desire its form, and you believe you are enjoying Anastasia wholly when you are only its slave.

- Italo Calvino, trans. William Weaver, Invisible Cities
hearts and wrists intact
Dear Barcelona,

I did not get up at four in the morning to watch you lose.


ETA: I wish my commentary were in Spanish just to hear the “GOOOOOOOOOOOL”, just so I wouldn’t have to say it. GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL. GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL. I LOVE OUR FRONT LINE. DARLING BOYS.


ETA the second: Holy carp Cesc Fabregas has a daughter. Cesc Fabregas has a daughter. Cesc Fabregas is a father. Holy carp do you remember when he set his kitchen on fire by accident? I feel ancient.
hearts and wrists intact
09 April 2013 @ 07:02 pm
Thought we were done with people who can't leave their cities but can't stay, either? You thought wrong, we will never be done.


Motion Sickness

Rain in New Jersey devouring the landscape
like those mythic dragons of another time,
another country. The train window frames it

like ink scrolls of brooding masters,
and now the shingle-roofed towns unroll
one after the other, panoramas

of domestic assurances, warm rooms,
nights with beer and TV. I’m only looking in,
and fictive homes are turning on their lamps,

and I remember mother taking me on the train
out of Manila–I was four or five, and we sat
at the station and she said you could hear it coming,

first the thunder and then the charged heat
and full stop to stillness. We were running away
but never too far nor too long, because each time

there was nowhere far enough to go.
Her face was purple with bruises, which she hid
with paste the color of early sky. In a day or two

father would be weeping in her arms,
then we’d be home watching TV. Here you feel
the pull of perpetual motion, the blunt gunmetal

of the tracks and the empty stations, the fierce
rush towards and away from absence.
In Eliseo Subiela’s Hombre Mirando al Sudeste

an alien has chosen to come to an asylum
to study the earth, and wonders why so much beauty
leaves us emptier, more solitary. And when he finds

no answers, he dies like humans do,
numb with morphine, unable to dissect
the filaments of love. Mother and I always came back

on the same train: the same fake leather seats,
the smell of condiments and rotten produce,
the landscape unreeling backwards. Thirty years later

I am still watching tracks, I try not to look back
too much, I believe beauty is a hint of storm
but it could be anything, the way the alien found it

everywhere, in Beethoven or a frozen brain–
dawn, the perfect ink of it, the nervous arrival
of familiars, and the stillness recurring without fail.

- Eric Gamalinda
hearts and wrists intact
08 April 2013 @ 11:42 pm
PSA: Ever since committing to misandry as a way of life my internal landscape has improved dramatically. (Nothing can be done about the outside world.) 100% rating, highly recommended, would do again. Just in case anyone's interested. Or doubtful.


feminine protection

oh honey honey I'm telling you — a woman's work is never
done. why that guy who gave me the once-over twice
pumping his hands under his overcoat —
well, his eyes don't open so well
since I sprayed him in the face with my
Miss Lady Aerosol Pump Superhold Formula Hairspray

and then that guy who felt me up on the subway, well —
blame it on my Lady Eve Press-on Manicure Nails in Sin Red
and something about that kind of fruit, why
that adam's apple just fell right out
ripe and red into my hand

and that guy on the corner calling me everyday
with his hey baby baby doncha wanna baby baby
doncha wanna piece of me

and I said yeah baby baby yeah I wanna piece of you
and took off a one-inch slab of his tongue
with my Non-slip Grip Lady Schick

and oh those guys who tried to jump
me on the way home oh don't you know
these things always end in tears
I was so sorry to lose my favorite pair of Foxy Lady
Five-inch Patent Leather Spike Heels — it's going
to be a while before I get over that one

but a girl's got to do what a girl's got to do
and don't even start me on what happened
the night that guy broke into my sanitary
pad it took me hours to clean off my Curling
Iron, my Nail File, my Tweezers, my Just-For-Me
Sandal Toe Queen Size Control Tops are still hanging out to dry

and what with all the screaming
I'm lucky I didn't get caught red-
handed with my Pink Comfort-Tip
Scented Double-Barrel Super-Plus Sawed-
Off Tampax but Thank God for
feminine protection.

A girl never knows when she's gonna need
to soak up some blood.

- Daphne Gottlieb
hearts and wrists intact
08 April 2013 @ 11:40 pm
Holy carp my favorite boys leaked their own album and just, like, barring that album cover, it's hard for me not to love them, because of how much they love what they're doing. Hindi naman halatang sobra silang excited na i-release yung album nila.

And holy carp I wish I had the vocabulary to talk about music because the music is great, it's less a lyrics album than a music album but you get lines like the person you'd take a bullet for is behind the trigger and I got the scars from tomorrow and when Rome's in ruins we are the lions free of the colosseums and the entirety of The Phoenix so I don't even know what I'm saying. The Phoenix is probably up there with my best beloved Fall Out Boy tracks and I love Rat a Tat so much I guess it's obvious that I will never be over furious teenage I do what I do anthems and Foxes were great and the whole album makes the Punk Should Not Be Like Sushi and Neither Should Rock and Roll argument by existing. And also have I said that the music is great? It's bright and layered and alive. It's like Infinity on High without the exhaustion, it's like Folie a Deux without the claustrophobia, and I don't know what I'm saying anymore. Just, guys, what. What. I cannot even. I have lost my ability to even ever again.
hearts and wrists intact
07 April 2013 @ 11:12 pm
Since I was quoting her anyway. The anthem for every LJ/Tumblr girl lived being raised eyebrows at for overthinking/overreacting/caring too much.


for women who are "difficult" to love

you are a horse running alone
and he tries to tame you
compares you to an impossible highway
to a burning house
says you are blinding him
that he could never leave you
forget you
want anything but you
you dizzy him, you are unbearable
every woman before or after you
is doused in your name
you fill his mouth
his teeth ache with memory of taste
his body just a long shadow seeking yours
but you are always too intense
frightening in the way you want him
unashamed and sacrificial
he tells you that no man can live up to the one who
lives in your head
and you tried to change didn’t you?
closed your mouth more
tried to be softer
less volatile, less awake
but even when sleeping you could feel
him traveling away from you in his dreams
so what did you want to do love
split his head open?
you can’t make homes out of human beings
someone should have already told you that
and if he wants to leave
then let him leave
you are terrifying
and strange and beautiful
something not everyone knows how to love.

- Warsan Shire
hearts and wrists intact
06 April 2013 @ 11:20 pm
Another one from first year high school. Last lines, as Warsan Shire said, should punch you in the stomach, and Bienvenido Lumbera is fantastic at last lines.


A Eulogy of Roaches

Blessed are the cockroaches.
In this country they are
the citizens who last.
They need no police
to promulgate their peace
because they tolerate
each other’s smell or greed.
Friends to dark and filth,
they do not choose their meat.
Although they neither sow
nor reap, a daily feast
is laid for them in rooms
and kitchens of their pick.

The roaches do not spin,
and neither do they weave.
But note the russet coat
the sluggards wear: clothed
at birth, roaches require
no roachy charity.

They settle where they wish
and have no rent to pay.
Eviction is a word
quite meaningless to them
who do not have to own
their dingy crack of wall.

Not knowing dearth or taxes,
they increase and multiply.
Survival is assured
even the jobless roach;
his opportunities
pile up where garbage grows.
Dying is brief and cheap
and thus cannot affright.
A whiff of toxic mist,
an agile heel, a stick
—the swift descent of pain
is also final death.
Their annals may be short,
but when the simple poor
have starved to simple death,
roaches still circulate
in cupboards of the rich,
the strong, the wise, the dead.

- Bienvenido Lumbera
hearts and wrists intact
06 April 2013 @ 10:22 pm
Of course my stream froze just as the ball went flying to Rosa’s head from Gervinho’s boot. At least it was in Spanish, so I got the ten-second long declaration of “GOOOOOOOOOOL”.

ETA: Of course WBA get a freekick right after. Thank the football gods for Lukasz Fabianski, because I guess making a wall that does its job is a bit difficult.


On the bright side at least we're playing well. Well, as much as I can tell given my stream freezes every five seconds.

ETA III: ROSAAAAA. It’s great to have you back in the squad.

ETA IV: Well, hell.

I’d ask you what you were thinking, Per, but. Yeah.

ETA how the hell do you expect me to count them down properly:
Dear Arsenal,

Don’t. You. Dare. Don’t even think about it. This is why no one ever trusts your two-goal leads.

Also apparently we have the most red cards in the league for this season? There’s a punch line here, only I haven’t slept in two days so I don’t know what it is.

ETA the last: If no one has ever been reported to have died of Arsenal it’s only because of faulty data gathering.

Good one, kids. :D