Really like this first sentence from ‘Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day’ by Winifred Watson.

Really like this first sentence from ‘Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day’ by Winifred Watson.

Tags: lit prose writers

xombiedirge:

Drive by Dylan Burnett

Just discovered Breece D’J Pancake. Now this was a writer.

Tags: lit writers

This year, more than ever, Ukraine needs our thoughts on this it’s 23rd Independence Day. Right now things remain hopeful. Slava UKRAINA.

This year, more than ever, Ukraine needs our thoughts on this it’s 23rd Independence Day. Right now things remain hopeful. Slava UKRAINA.

Westward Bound (by the late Jon Blais)

Live…
More than your neighbours.
Unleash yourself upon the world and go places.
Go now.
Giggle, no, laugh.
No…stay out past dark,
And bark at the moon like the wild dog that you are.
Understand that this is not a dress rehearsal.
This is it…your life.
Face your fears and live your dreams.
Take it in.
Yes, every chance you get…
Come close.
And, by all means, whatever you do…
Get it on film.

I just turned 33

  • I've stayed alive longer than Jesus.

ericboydblog:

neckbreakinstyle:

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Leather top - Zara// Skirt - Zara (similar)// Sandals - (similar)// Clutch - Nasty Gal/ Handpiece - Nasty Gal (Jennifer Zeuner - similar)// Clutch - Nasty Gal

ERIC BOYD x NECKBREAKIN’ STYLE FINAL INSTALLATION

It’s our last hoorah together and although, incredibly exciting, is also very bittersweet. I literally pouted as I typed that. I’ve had the pleasure of merging the written words of the brilliant Eric Boyd and the fashion photoshoots of Neckbreakin’ Style. I can only hope that I depicted the six word poem as beautifully and powerfully as the poem would be on its own. 

Styling wise, I’m in head to toe Zara and Nasty Gal which are two of my favorite great steal boutiques. Crop tops have undeniably engrossed every corner of the fashion industry and has creeped in every style genres. It was also seen at 98.7% of the runway shows during NYFW in September. I am clearly a fan, having worn crop tops in numerous posts so far. You don’t have to go too far to find them. They are literally everywhere. Some of my favorites are this pearl number from TOPSHOPFor Love & Lemoncropped knit, a cropped pullover from BCBGShakuhachi Python Crop Top, and Nasty Gal's Cut Out Crop. I don't see the itty bitty tops going away anytime soon. 

The overall aesthetic of this post is inspired by these six words - 

"Our 
souls like 
messy 
coloring 
books.”
- Eric Boyd (source)

It was important to me to end on a light note. What’s great about Eric Boyd is that he taps almost every psyche of the individual. The soul isn’t organized in clean cut lines, it’s surely messy and you can bet that the colors exist outside the lines. It’s a mixture of patterns, ideas, textures, and movement. The soul is undefinable at best but universally understood. Try to control it and you’ll find yourself in a bigger mess. So this shoot is as laissez faire, full play, vibrant, and full of movement. When you decide to find yourself sharing apart of “you”, it may feel as lucite as the clutch adorning my body.

I hope this post encourages you to have your own dance party in a random room surrounded by painted silhouettes, plush pillows, and beaded curtains.

I have some exciting news to share and stay alert for a giveaway soon!

Photos by Faraz Nishcal Photography

xNB

This was the last six worder which Lynn Do (NeckBreakinStyle) chose to base some photographs off of. A cool collaboration. I hope others will do likewise and hit me up with their ideas. Then my work turns into something new, which will inspire me to do more work, and it just goes round and round like that. It’s great.

I love everything about this - what a great idea.

Tags: poetry fashion

"I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish’d, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;"

— Darkness by Lord Byron

"Goodnight, sweet prince, and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!-"

— Hamlet Act 5, Scene 2

Blory #235

velvetblory:

Boy Meets Girl.

He lived.  She lived.  They met.  They loved. He gave.  She took.  She gave. He took.  He took. He took. She tired. She cried.  She left.  He laughed.  He cried.  She progressed.  He broke. She forgave. He rose.  He smiled.  She smiled. They remembered.  they lived. He died.  She mourned. He haunted.  She screamed.  He grinned.  She moved.  He followed. He haunted.  She prayed.  He rested.  She died.  We forgot. Time passed.

By Douglas Walker

Thought I’d re blog this gem

Tags: lit prose poetry

Is it just me or is Dawn of the Planet

Of the Apes just The Lion King?

Or are they both Hamlet?

Are there ever films which are about a daughter in a mother’s shadow?

"Jane says
I’ve never been in love
I don’t know what it is
I want them if they want me
I only know they want me"

— Jane Says by Janes Addiction

Hourglass

She had a body like an hourglass.
She had a mind like an hourglass.
And like the grains decanting within,
I know now that it ends once it begins,
And that nothing lasts.

"There we were, just enjoying a nice quiet Saturday night at the movies. A slow mover, Linklater’s “Boyhood.” Some popcorn. A few sodas. Nothing really happens in the film, we found. For about 90 minutes or so we stare listlessly at the screen. It’s a thinking man’s film, I say. Beautifully shot. It’s about life, and death and relationships and things of that nature. Just then, at a brief, carefully-timed cinematic pause in dialogue, an enormous fart from somewhere in the back pierces an otherwise silent movie theatre. It had the impact of a baseball bat hitting a leather couch, or George Foreman working the heavy bag. Whack. Loud, deep and masculine.The seat cushion heroically absorbed most of the blow, but not enough that each and every person in the movie theatre instantly burst into nervous laughter. The laughter continued for what felt like a good 5 minutes, until tears streamed down our faces. Even well after the blast, we quietly chuckled to ourselves with a ‘remember the time that guy farted in the movie theatre’ gleam in our eyes. And just like that, with a soft chuckle and a deep breath, we were back into the film. Things happened, people drove around Texas, relationships came and went, there was crying, there was hope. It was as if we had all forgotten about the fart that had brought us together that night. As the sun began to set on screen, the teenage boy, no longer a boy, transitions into an adult, before our very eyes, and looks, intently, lustfully into a young girls eyes, as if to lean in for a kiss, and braaaaaaap. Another fart from the back row, like two giant hands clapping together, and the screen goes dark, roll credits. We decided, after laughing our way out of the theatre, and all the way home, that this was the best movie that we had ever seen. I imagine the lone fartist sauntering off into the sunset. His work here done. If only I could say thank you, kind sir. You are truly a master of your craft."

— Review of Boyhood - from unknown blog

Waiting
My love will come
will fling open her arms and fold me in them,
will understand my fears, observe my changes.
In from the pouring dark, from the pitch night
without stopping to bang the taxi door
she’ll run upstairs through the decaying porch
burning with love and love’s happiness,
she’ll run dripping upstairs, she won’t knock,
will take my head in her hands,
and when she drops her overcoat on a chair,
it will slide to the floor in a blue heap.

Yevgeny Yevtushenko

Waiting
My love will come
will fling open her arms and fold me in them,
will understand my fears, observe my changes.
In from the pouring dark, from the pitch night
without stopping to bang the taxi door
she’ll run upstairs through the decaying porch
burning with love and love’s happiness,
she’ll run dripping upstairs, she won’t knock,
will take my head in her hands,
and when she drops her overcoat on a chair,
it will slide to the floor in a blue heap.

Yevgeny Yevtushenko

Tags: lit poetry soviet