“ Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence. ”
the other day my BFF and I were thinking about what if famous writers of the past existed today and used social media
Allen Ginsberg gets his YouTube video deleted for obscenity
Jack Kerouac Instagramming his trip and using Craigslist rideshares instead of hitchhiking
e.e. cummings with a Twitter and no one knows what the hell he is talking about but they follow him anyway like horse_ebooks
Samuel Taylor Coleridge tweeting “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”, line by line. and you have to read it backwards
Percy Shelley on Facebook: “I can’t believe my wife beat me in a writing contest”
Henry David Thoreau on Facebook: Walden Pond, Checked In. Walden Pond, Checked In. Walden Pond, Checked In. Walden Pond, Checked In. Walden Pond, Checked In.
J. D. Salinger gives up on writing because his computer harddrive crashed and he lost his one novel
Pablo Neruda on Twitter: “Welp. I guess I’m exiled now.”
Book trailer for Dante’s Inferno: “In a world…where we’ve forsaken God…”
Oscar Wilde on Grindr
My new tea infuser in action. Occasionallypaper has dubbed the teapot inside the tea cup as tea-ception.
"You know, when we fought the Cylons we did it to save ourselves from extinction. But we never answered the question "Why?". Why are we as a people worth saving? We still commit murder because of greed and jealousy and we still visit all of our sins upon our children. We refuse to accept responsibility for anything that we’ve done, like we did with the Cylons. We decided to play God, create life. And when that life turned against us we comforted ourselves in the knowledge that it really wasn’t our fault, not really.
You cannot play God then wash your hands of the things that you’ve created. Sooner or later the day comes when you can’t hide from the things that you’ve done anymore.”