1. Early 90s R&B as gateway drug to later 90s emo discussion: did our heads just get filled with licking people up and down, knocking boots, freakin people, etc etc that when it all (our teens) didn’t turn out to be quite so romantic/sexy, we got sad?

  2. Summer Project Idea: have my seven year old daughter choreograph and later perform a ballet to Strung Out On OK Computer: The String Quartet Tribute To Radiohead.

    (Source: Spotify)

  3. theneweryork: We posted a new story: http://theneweryork.com/lookers-by-leanor-perry/ The Lookers The dead man and his wife stand on a thin spit of shingle, as knotted, boat-shaped bodies of women shrink and swell like irides in tide pools and puddles. No mermaids here, only squinting witches paddling upturned eggshells in the blurry distance. His eyes are not what they used to be, mud crabs angrily scrambling from empty sockets.  Through nets and plastic bags, the codling swim with cyclops lice and blooms of opal jellyfish. Ever more watchful of the nuclear reactor – for no-one wants a fish in the system despite what anyone tells you. All that energy powering the eyes of the dead man’s wife, hundred-watt blinks casting lumens seaward for the purpose of drowning desperate vessels. She dreams of running out among the frenzied gulls and rusty pipes, of extinguishing blazing filaments, shattering bulb casings with fistfuls of hag-stones.  But all the pregnant pebbles have been pocketed by tourists, strung up in their bathrooms like rosaries – creative types on day-trips from London, keen to rework ramshackle hut and overturned boat in charcoal and watercolour. Eager for the gluey-battered fish slivers dished up by churlish girls with chapped lips and thick pink thighs. Under weary feet the ooliths and fossils clink like dead men’s teeth, the music of breakages.

    theneweryork:

    We posted a new story: http://theneweryork.com/lookers-by-leanor-perry/

    The Lookers

    The dead man and his wife stand on a thin spit of shingle, as knotted, boat-shaped bodies of women shrink and swell like irides in tide pools and puddles. No mermaids here, only squinting witches paddling upturned eggshells in the blurry distance. His eyes are not what they used to be, mud crabs angrily scrambling from empty sockets. 

    Through nets and plastic bags, the codling swim with cyclops lice and blooms of opal jellyfish. Ever more watchful of the nuclear reactor – for no-one wants a fish in the system despite what anyone tells you. All that energy powering the eyes of the dead man’s wife, hundred-watt blinks casting lumens seaward for the purpose of drowning desperate vessels. She dreams of running out among the frenzied gulls and rusty pipes, of extinguishing blazing filaments, shattering bulb casings with fistfuls of hag-stones. 

    But all the pregnant pebbles have been pocketed by tourists, strung up in their bathrooms like rosaries – creative types on day-trips from London, keen to rework ramshackle hut and overturned boat in charcoal and watercolour. Eager for the gluey-battered fish slivers dished up by churlish girls with chapped lips and thick pink thighs. Under weary feet the ooliths and fossils clink like dead men’s teeth, the music of breakages.

  4. internetpoetry: image macro by chuck young This is part of a pome I ‘researched’ and did. You’ll read it at some point. It’s all sensory and shit. Did you guys know that this year is going to be, like, the loudest the cicada has been in 16 years or something? Because they’re coming up from underground.

    internetpoetry:

    image macro by chuck young

    This is part of a pome I ‘researched’ and did. You’ll read it at some point. It’s all sensory and shit.

    Did you guys know that this year is going to be, like, the loudest the cicada has been in 16 years or something? Because they’re coming up from underground.

  5. Get into it.

    Get into it.

  6. I don’t understand the impulse people seem to have, in public bathrooms, to finish right up when pooping immediately after someone walks in as if to say to that person, ‘nope. wasn’t pooping. i don’t do that.’ It has the opposite effect.

    When someone walks in and I’m pooping, I close my eyes, hold my breathe, and pretend I’m invisible until they leave.

  7. The Rutles (1978)

  8. I’m not going to drink for a year and plan on using that time like convicts use a prison sentence.

    I’m not going to drink for a year and plan on using that time like convicts use a prison sentence.

  9. Playing driveway hoops all day ( called out of work), only referencing members of the ‘92 USA Dream Team when Sports Announcering my moves and also yelling, ‘glass, motherfucker!’ to my two year old son.

  10. Coming up with some sweet slogans. Let me help your brand.

    Coming up with some sweet slogans. Let me help your brand.