rainiscalling:brokenmachine:gube:fives:
you + rain = 2 of my favorite things
Aprils Hours
Little Read.
Fill her head with so little knowledge, carbonated wishes tickle imaginary type-face kisses from Hell. In hand basket—the Urn from bedside, here rewriting her(& his Fall)story…
(Offher the hills & through holy woods…)
To Grandmother’s house we go…
“ So he was sentenced to be beheaded, within the hour, and as soldiers manhandled him out of the tent towards the killing ground, he shouted over his shoulder: ‘whores and writers, Mahound. We are the people you can’t forgive.’ Mahound replied, ‘Writers and whores. I see no difference here.’
salman rushdie, the satanic verses (via paperbackgirl)
… and wives.
