Memorial poesy ring. Ring in memory of one who went to sea. Gold, rock crystal and textile, 1592.
“The cruel seas, remember, took him in November.”
(via suicideblonde)
A friend of mine took this at Mardi Gras in NOLA. Sometimes I really regret leaving that city.
One of the best libraries in America: Kansas City Public Library. The façade of the Kansas City library is a giant bookshelf — how’s that for the power of books?
“There is a flash, a burst of heat, and my mother looks at my father one last time. My father simply holds on to her hand, pulls himself a little closer to her, and covers her body with his. They explode, burn away, and smolder, because sometimes it just makes sense to hold on like that.” -Kevin Wilson
Halfway through this lovely book.
The premises of the short stories are entirely surreal - the first two involve a grandmother rental agency and a boy who works at a scrabble factory after his parents spontaneously combust. Yet the writing is so spot-on emotionally that the stories hardly seem strange.
I love when fiction is good enough to achieve this balance. When it can be as honest and odd as I want the world to be.
