Shiver me fuckin’ timbers. Library AND Miniature? The only thing that could possibly make this more awesome is if Miss Pearlie Mae and Miss Vivian popped their darling, fuzzy heads out the windows.
Libris! Minius! Caninus! INVICTUS!
“A writer’s job is to get naked, to hide nothing, to look away from nothing, to look at it. To not blink, to not be embarrassed by it or ashamed of it. Strip it down and let’s get to where the blood is, where the bone is.” — Harry Crews
“You oughta be terrified of growing old! It’s a motherfucker. What you’ve got to do is to just have no respect for it whatsoever. Cuss it a lot and kick and raise hell. Spit and scratch your ass and do all the things you can do when you’re an old guy. And don’t suck up and suck around when you’re an old guy. Fuck it. So you’re old, so what else is new?” –- The BADASS OF ALL BADASS Southern writers, Harry Crews, on aging.
The name of my new band is “Fatter Than Gladys”…which came about because when I was a kid I always used to think Elvis’ mother was a massive fattie — like, seriously, along with Mama Cass, the motherloving awesome GOLD STANDARD OF FATTIES — and looking at pictures of her now, I realize that, much to my amusement, I am, in fact, FATTER THAN GLADYS.
#whatthefuckman #yougottabekiddingmewiththis
#holyshitimfatterthangladys
#factsisfactsandfatisfat #ibefatterthangladysmuthafuckas
#andibeproud
A woman from the audience asked, ‘Why were there so few women among the beat writers?’ — and Gregory Corso, suddenly utterly serious, leans forward and says, ‘There were women, they were there. I knew them…their families put them in institutions, they were given electric shock. In the 50’s, if you were male you could be a rebel, but if you were females, your families had you locked up. There were cases, I knew them. Someday someone will write about them.’”
— from Stephen Scobie’s account of The Naropa Institute tribute to Allen Ginsberg, 1994.
Her Kind
I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.
I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves: whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.
I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.
— Anne Sexton, 1928-1974
#atoasttoalluslunaticwitchesandourmanyridesinthecart
#itoohavebeenherkind
#teamanne
Yes, All Mein Poppets of Good Conscience…I beseech you to gather together, join hands, and fervently pray for my haters with all of your might. Send unto them both love and light.
#nahnotreally
#imjustfuckinwitcha
#fuckemall
#shortfatandfuckintall
THIS.
#yeahchuckleitupmotherfuckerimnotjoking #passthebengaybitches
#nottomentionallthefresnobitcheswhowasgivinhandiesinthecarrightnexttomewhenwewere16
#inthebackrowatwoodwardparkdrivein
#fresnobitcheswhoarenowallthefuckingsuddengoodchristianwomen
#yeahthatsrightiseeyouoverthereinthecornershakininyourgoldplatedcrossnecklace
#andyournudehoseandsensiblepumps
#yesyou
#trustmeespeciallyyou
#iwantfiddydollasandacaseofcoolranchnachocheesecommunionwafersbeforecloseofbidnesstomorrow
#orimastartnaminnamesbitches
#thatisall
muffy bolding 