a skeleton running from the closet.

Yeah, I’m home for five hours in between shifts. I opened, I will close… I was supposed to be in sunny Florida, being stupid and girly and fun. Instead, I get to be me again. Wait, what?

I might be girly. I might be fun. But sometimes I wish I could just be stupid. It would save me a whole lot of… everything, all of my resources, all of the things I work so hard to have.

August, you can’t come too soon.

On the scales of desire, your absence weighs more
than someone else’s presence, so I say no thanks

to the woman who throws her girdle at my feet,
as I drop a postcard in the mailbox and watch it

throb like a blue heart in the dark. Your eyes
are so green – one of your parents must be

part traffic light. We’re both self-centered,
but the world revolves around us at the same speed.

Last night I tossed and turned inside a thundercloud.
This morning my sheets were covered in pollen.

I remember the long division of Saturday’s
pomegranate, a thousand nebulae in your hair,

as soldiers marched by, dragging big army bags
filled with water balloons, and we passed a lit match,

back and forth, between our lips, under an oak tree
I had absolutely nothing to do with.

- Jeffrey McDaniel

(via thejoo)

emilyhates:

hunsonisgroovy:

So you rented “No Country for Old Men,” were confused by the ending, and borrowed the novel from the library hoping to find answers. Now you’re no more enlightened and facing late fees from two places. Well, unlike Llewelyn from “No Country,” you have a way out.

First, smuggle the contraband back into the place you got it and, when no one’s looking, return the offending item to the shelf. When the next person checks it out, the computer will see that it hasn’t been officially returned. Most systems automatically attribute this to employee error (someone forgot to scan it back in) and erase your late fee. It’s your only hope of getting away clean. Well, aside from ponying up the whopping five bucks you owe.  —Wired Magazine