A journal and pen
You will not write often, but when you do it will be important. Write about the curly-haired stranger who complimented your Spanish or your French or your Danish. Tape your first Metro card to the journal’s inside cover. Keep the last page for the writing of new words.
A guidebook of the city
You’ll realize once you’ve arrived that you don’t need it, but it will bring you comfort on the long plane ride there. Be generous with your highlighter. Dog-ear every page.
A black t-shirt
This will serve you in all settings: small theatre productions, bars, bull fights. It will wear the stains of red wine well and will make you think you look less Foreign. Nobody else will think this, but it is important that you do.
A photo of your family
And I mean an actual photo. Printed. Hold it in your hands on nights when the loneliness bites the most. Write the dates of these nights on the backside of the photograph. Frame it. Keep it beside your bed when you return.
Three of your favorite books
You won’t have room for much in your suitcase, but keep room for books. You’ll find it hard to find English books and you’ll be surprised at how much you miss reading the language. Bring books that feel like embraces. Weather their pages with tears and sweat, the small pressures of your eager fingers.
Maps and online directions will fail you on crooked, cobble-stoned back streets. Learn the rotations of the sun. Trust in its magnetism. Describe your apartment as Southeast of the city center, West of the Royal Park.
A small slip of paper
On it, write the reasons why you’ve left. Be honest. When you are sad or frustrated or lonely or bitter or regretful, pull the small slip of paper from the inside pocket of your backpack. Read it. Read it again, say the words slowly. Remember that at one point these were the truest words you had ever written. When you are done, fold it in half. Press it close to your chest. Do this until you have memorized every word, until you could recite it like prayer. When the words are no longer true, pack your bags. Book a flight. Prepare for the next great leap.
and i wanted to call you
or just show up at your house or something
even though i knew it wouldnt make me feel any better
Boogeymen - part of a series of eerie stereoviews - dated 1923 (Via)
First trailer for Arrested Development - Season 4!
Screw falling in love.
My heart itself is already in tangles. A web of nonsense
and a drawerful of necklace chains that I will never
have the patience to separate. I am sounds mixed with
different mediums of light. Six thousand eight hundred
dialects of flesh that I don’t have enough time to
translate into words. This dictionary of skin is unreadable and
Latin is dead because of what we never had the balls to
tell each other.
I am swearing off of love because everything inside of me
is oil and vinegar and I no longer believe that it’s morally correct
to fall in love with the intent of both destroying and rebuilding
another human being. I am a forest fire and an ocean, and
my favorite color is the same as the color that hurts me the most.
I don’t want your sentimentality. Quit looking at me intending
to melt me. We all know it’s working. We all know what this heart
is capable of unfolding.
I am not as strong as my words pretend to be. Not
as quiet as these caesuras promise. This heart is a patchwork quilt of people
that leave different shades of blue inside of me.
The drowning. Your skies.
The outline of a blue jay on a porcelain plate.
For now, I am closing off these bones for someone who will know
how to trace me without me ever telling them what I look like naked.
I no longer want to seduce the words out of people just to see
if I can. The love that I’m looking for falls out of the realm of your lips
and my lips and our lips doing a dance that involves bodies and more skin
and your hair touching mine, gently, like two winds
Screw falling in love.
It’s too much to handle when
I’m already having difficulties breathing and keeping track of my
heartbeats and making sure that my limbs are doing what
they need to be doing.
men are so beautiful.
But this heart is so
I am every vulnerability that the thesaurus has to
offer me and in a certain light it’s impossible for me not to pull you
towards me with the intent of kissing the very life
out of you.
What I’m trying to say is that you are not allowed in.
What I’m trying to say is that all I want is to open myself up and have you
rearrange me, untangle the gold chains of my heart, love me for
every shade of blue that I have hidden in the silent spaces
I have sworn off of falling in love,
but I know that in the morning,
outside, in the pale frost of February,
all I’ll want is to hold another person’s hand, warm and
gloved, in their coat’s pocket.
— Shinji Moon, “I Don’t Want To Be Loved. I Just Want To Be Untangled.”