Can I just say how beautiful this is? The transition from seeing Peggy place her hand on Don’s in a seductive manner in Season 1, to him touching hers in assurance in “The Suitcase” and now, this - this beautiful moment of honoring how much Peggy has meant to Don over the years?
(Source: inanyothercity)
She traces the faint scars on her wrists: a lighter held too long, a cigarette pushed onto skin numbed by too many drinks; all of the little faded scars are nights that her post-post adolescent self wanted to remember.
“And will this be a memory that you want to keep?” he asks her, tracing from wrist to elbow and back up again.
She rolls over and pulls the sheet tighter around her and keeps her goddamned mouth shut for once because what will she say?
“I could set my whole body on fire and it wouldn’t be enough.”
The halloween we decided to go as the Breakfast Club but failed to coordinate our costumes!
His name is Blaine, he’s a senior. He’s so beautiful.
It’s nice it happened to you. It’s like you came to the island and you had a holiday…sun didn’t burn you red-red, just brown.You sleep and no mosquito eat you, rum no pound your head next day. But truth is, that’s bound to happen if you stay long enough. So take that nice picture home with you, but don’t be fooled. We’re lonely here mostly, too. If we’re lucky, we got some nice pictures.
I became a criminal when I fell in love.
Before that I was a waitress.I didn’t want to go to Chicago with you.
I wanted to marry you, I wanted
Your wife to suffer.I wanted her life to be like a play
In which all the parts are sad parts.Does a good person
Think this way? I deserveCredit for my courage—
I sat in the dark on your front porch.
Everything was clear to me:
If your wife wouldn’t let you go
That proved she didn’t love you.
If she loved you
Wouldn’t she want you to be happy?I think now
If I felt less I would be
A better person. I was
A good waitress.
I could carry eight drinks.I used to tell you my dreams.
Last night I saw a woman sitting in a dark bus—
In the dream, she’s weeping, the bus she’s on
Is moving away. With one hand
She’s waving; the other strokes
An egg carton full of babies.The dream doesn’t rescue the maiden.
“Siren” by Louise Glück
This poem has been rattling in my head for weeks now, so much so that I’ve toyed with the idea of getting a tattoo with reference to it. “I was/A good waitress./I could carry eight drinks.” This line stays with me, I repeat it like a mantra; I envision eight perfect circles inked onto my left wrist. Finally, today, I sat down and talked about it with someone and my mind sorted out what I got from the poem.
The speaker of the poem is, by traditional standards, a horrible person. She wishes horrid things upon a wife. She is The Other Woman. And yet..”I deserve/Credit for my courage—” She does. She isn’t wishy-washy with her feelings, she doesn’t tiptoe around them. I think that too often we hold back on pursuing what we really want because we are afraid of appearing selfish. We fear the repercussions of our decisions. It is a brave woman who is honest about the most ugly parts of herself.
Then, I return to that haunting line: “I could carry eight drinks.” What she is saying is this: I have wished for awful things to happen to innocent people. I have wanted others to hurt because they stopped me from getting what I wanted. But that does not discredit that before I fell in love, I was capable of good.
The emotions that I have felt, the damage that I have done…these things do not overwrite who I am or my past. While I might be a criminal now, I am still capable of being a good waitress.
I liked it better when you wanted me more, and it is only with the clarity that comes with drinking five beers and one shot of tequila and another of whiskey that I can say that. Once upon a time, you kissing me was the worst thing ever. And now it is something that I scheme for and when you kiss me after telling me that I am forcing the issue (in a less eloquent way), it is a slap in the face.
I liked it better when you wanted me more, not because I was something that was there but because I was something that you wanted a better life for.
(Source: ghostofcheney)
You want to know how I spend my time?
I walk the front lawn, pretending
to be weeding. You ought to know
I’m never weeding, on my knees, pulling
clumps of clover from the flower beds: in fact
I’m looking for courage, for some evidence
my life will change, though
it takes forever, checking
each…
The Man with the Miniature Orchestra by Dave Algonquin. There were phrases of Beethoven’s Ninth Symphony that still made Coe cry. He always thought it had to do with the circumstances of the composition itself. He imagined Beethoven deaf and soul-sick, his heart broken, scribbling furiously while Death stood in the doorway, clipping his nails. Still, Coe thought, it might have been living in the country that was making him cry. It was killing him with its silence and loneliness — making everything ordinary, too beautiful to bear.
- Ken Cosgrove, Mad Men, “Signal 30”
(via msjosiev)
