Harry Styles For Gucci Mémoire D’une Odeur

things to die for: harry's freckles.

what the fuck?

[transcript: 1. “god is fucking with my oblivion. if he wants forgiveness, he shouldn’t have given us memory.”

2. “your god comes and he is ordinary and terrible. he confers with the doctors at your kitchen table and tells you to eat….”

3. “our father who art in heaven. our father who art buried in the yard.”

4. “at the trial of god, we will ask: ‘why did you allow all this?’ and the answer will be an echo: ‘why did you allow all this?’”

5. “i don’t believe in god as much as i believe in the interrogation room. i believe in someone placing a loaded gun on a metal table between me and a door. who gets to be god then? will god be the bullet or the table or the door.”

6. “every spy knows this. some say god is where we put our sorrow. god says, which one of you fuckers can get to me first?”/end transcript.]

vi khi nao— fish in exile/leila chatti— portrait of the illness as nightmare/richard siken— snow and dirty rain/ilya kaminsky— a city like a guillotine shivers on its way to the neck/hanif abdurraqib— all the tv shows are about cops/richard siken— war of the foxes

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Almost. It’s a big word for me. I feel it everywhere. Almost home. Almost happy. Almost changed. Almost, but not quite. not yet. Soon, maybe.

Joan Bauer / Almost Home

Seattle, July 2018

YOU GOT TO BELIEVE IN POETRY CAUSE EVERYTHING IN THIS LIFE, INCLUDING YOU WILL FAIL YOU.