I remember the whiskey and neon of those days. The sun would set at 7 pm every night over Fremont Street, and I would pretend that my childhood still stood with the El Rancho. There forever remained silver dollar-slots in my head, and the roar of a public winning the night.
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Miles Davis covered in blood.
The cops assaulted Miles because he was black. He was standing outside Birdland where he just performed and was taking a break. His name was on the marquee. They saw him escort a white female friend from the club into a taxi and then they approached him after as he was taking a smoke break. The cops told him to “move on”. Miles said he was playing at the club and was on break. They weren’t hearing any of that. One cop then punched him in the stomach, while another one cracked him on the head with a nightstick. That’s why he’s covered in blood.

Miles Davis covered in blood.

The cops assaulted Miles because he was black. He was standing outside Birdland where he just performed and was taking a break. His name was on the marquee. They saw him escort a white female friend from the club into a taxi and then they approached him after as he was taking a smoke break. The cops told him to “move on”. Miles said he was playing at the club and was on break. They weren’t hearing any of that. One cop then punched him in the stomach, while another one cracked him on the head with a nightstick. That’s why he’s covered in blood.

Sansa Stark.

I’m the King in the North…

The weirdest.

The weirdest.

It’s one of the clichés of the play now, an actor holding a skull, and I suppose the trouble with a cliché is that it loses its meaning. But, um, if you represent it with an actual person’s skull, a real bit of human, then Hamlet’s speech about Yorick and about staring into the skull of a man he knew well become all more potent when you’re aware you’re holding somebody’s head quite literally in your hands.
David Tennant.
Rooftop McCartney.

Rooftop McCartney.

That devastating rejection is absolutely inevitable. If you are serious and men realize it they will cease being attracted to you.

If you don’t play the game, the role, you are not a woman and they will NOT be attracted. You will be sexless and worse, unnatural and threatening.

You will be feared and despised and viciously maligned, all by men you know perfectly well you could charm utterly and wrap around your finger just by falling into the female role, even by men who have worshiped you in the past.

How is that possible? Obviously, because they never were worshiping you. That’s the bitter truth, and you’d better catch on now.

Dara Densmore, On Celibacy.
This is a glorious cake.

This is a glorious cake.

A Poison Tree.

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.

And I watered it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.

And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine.
And he knew that it was mine,

And into my garden stole
When the night had veiled the pole;
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretched beneath the tree.

Like checking out.

Like checking out.

The Primer.

She said, I love you.

He said, Nothing.


(As if there were just one
of each word and the one
who used it, used it up).


In the history of language
the first obscenity was silence.

My second period prep.

My second period prep.

The New Pornographers.

I’ve cried five rivers on the way here
Which one will you skate away on?

I’m sorry for what I did.

I’m sorry for what I did.

Caught a lovely butterfly.

Atmosphere.

Atmosphere.