Happy New Year →
25.media.tumblr.com
(thanks to @citizenrobot for this .gif)
January 2013
1 post
November 2012
1 post
August 2012
1 post
July 2012
1 post
June 2012
1 post
May 2012
3 posts
“Maybe we should see each other again,” I offered, and immediately regretted it. “Or maybe not, whatever.” The quick retraction made him laugh, yet he didn’t assuage my vulnerability by countermanding it. Instead, we just got in our separate cars to drive off, the party still going on behind us, the moon, high and bright in the sky, imperceptibly further away.
April 2012
5 posts
March 2012
2 posts
“
Without a future for growth and development, romantic love can extend only so far. Its distinction from, say, a friendship with benefits begins to become effaced.
There is, of course, in all romantic love the initial infatuation, which rarely lasts. But if the love is to remain romantic, that infatuation must evolve into a longer-term intensity, even if a quiet one, that nourishes and is nourished by the common engagements and projects undertaken over time.
…
[There] is not merely the necessity of time itself for love’s intensity but the necessity of a specific kind of time: time for development.
” —Just give it time.
The New York Times’ philosophy blog tackles the interplay of love and death. See also: 5 essential books on the psychology of love. (via explore-blog)
February 2012
2 posts
December 2011
1 post
November 2011
3 posts
October 2011
2 posts
September 2011
7 posts
The View From Mrs Thompson's →
people.virginia.edu
David Foster Wallace on 9/11
The Yellow Pages have nothing under Flag. There’s actual interior tension: Nobody walks by or stops their car and says, “Hey, your house doesn’t have a flag,” but it gets easier and easier to imagine people thinking it. None of the grocery stores in town turn out to stock any flags. The novelty shop downtown has nothing but Halloween stuff. Only a few businesses are open, but even the closed ones are displaying some sort of flag. It’s almost surreal. The VFW hall is a good bet, but it can’t open til noon if at all (it has a bar). The lady at Burwell’s references a certain hideous Qik-n-EZ store out by 1-74 at which she was under the impression she’d seen some little plastic flags back in the racks with all the bandannas and Nascar caps, but by the time I get there they turn out to be gone, snapped up by parties unknown. The reality is that there is not a flag to be had in this town. Stealing one out of somebody’s yard is clearly out of the question. I’m standing in a Qik-n-EZ afraid to go home. All those people dead, and I’m sent to the edge by a plastic flag. It doesn’t get really bad until people ask if I’m OK and I have to lie and say it’s a Benadryl reaction (which in fact can happen)…. Until in one more of the Horror’s weird twists of fate and circumstance it’s the Qik-n-EZ proprietor himself (a Pakistani, by the way) who offers solace and a shoulder and a strange kind of unspoken understanding, and who lets me go back and sit in the stock room amid every conceivable petty vice and indulgence America has to offer and compose myself, and who only slightly later, over styrofoam cups of a strange kind of tea with a great deal of milk in it, suggests, gently, construction paper and “Magical Markers,” which explains my now-beloved homemade flag.
August 2011
15 posts
a country outside of time →
theatlantic.com
37 photos inside North Korea
