filthy frump from delhi.

Kill Your Darlings (2013) dir. by John Krokidas

good friday, cocorosie

(1,833 plays)

on the brink yes yes abut to fall inside some lake of waterlike fire yes yes this is happening? 


Why is body hair only unhygienic when its on a woman’s body?

this keeps me goin’

this keeps me goin’

You counted days by their cold silences.
At night, wolves and men with bleeding hands

colonized your dreams. The last time I visited,
you said you trapped a dead woman in your room

who told you to starve yourself to make room for God,
so I let them give your body enough electricity

to calm it. Don’t be afraid. The future is not disguised
as sleep. It is a tango. It is a waterfall between

two countries, the river that tried to drown you.
It is a city where men speak a language

you can fake if you must. It’s the hands of children
thieving your empty pockets. It’s bicycles

with bells ringing through the streets at midnight.
Come up from the basement. It’s not over.

Before the sun rises, moonlight on the trees.
Before they tear the asylum down, joy.

Through a Glass Darkly, Traci Brimhall

(Source: lostinurbanism)

When they’re babies, people will come up and say to you ‘Are they a boy or a girl?’ when the kid’s in the pram and you can’t tell. And immediately when you tell them which gender it is they will behave differently according to what you tell them. It got to the point where we didn’t want people to know what gender the baby was. Just treat it as you’d treat someone you wanted to be nice to! Why is it so important to you to know? And then you hear people saying ‘Oh, look at him, he’s a little flirt isn’t he’, or ‘Oooh, she’s gonna wrap you around her little finger’ and all this. What are you on about? She’s two months old, she’s just shat herself.
Alan Davies completely and utterly demolishing gender roles

(Source: vanillanice)

because jerks.

because jerks.

#058 BOTIBOL - Blue (Scene De Bain | Saison 3)

they are my best lads after john and george. 

(Source: youtube.com)

things i’ll do after the fifteenth-

sleep sleep and sleep; make that mixtape for aa&ron as i always wanted to make that playlist for a&ron; watch some ingmar bergman films; make my abstruse camera and start the game; finish reading the god of small things, gulp all the eggwhite, rather drain all the eggwhite; listen to botibol; place courage on my tongue let it whisk and crackle, after this- type out all the poems and submit to journals; cry a little, stop afterwards; eat some wind that lassos soft light; say things that have been burning in your name; give squirrel the letter and the compact disk; finish socio project; drink some tea of a different texture; go to the national museum of modern art with m; go and experience ‘the lightening testimonies’ with my gurls; sleep sleep & sleep. 

In delhi one in five children are born at home. Tearing of the news typed paper wrapping in it a sanitary napkin. Delhi wat’s the colour- buff- bare- too many coulurs white light colour- no translusence. this city dwells in it’s onw all-encompasing symphony.

Delhi- when I walk on the zebra crossings on cp, I cpant- c-p-c-p-cp- as my feet go one by one- from the alternate stripes. Delhi some languid and agile heartbeat- I don’t have a chocie to be fragile. When I amble even if I have a mother by my side I feel that i’d trip- the laces ODF my shoes are twined-knotted- that’s too hard to loosen- no residual time left just chipped of shiny surfaces. Delhi there are too many sound- that there is no sound- the celing fan’s swish and woosh are more of skin sensation. The girlboy college kids who do who do theatre in kmc- in the ground are practicing in thick voices. The shower wateer trickled through the crevices left and right of my neck and what was it if it wasnt’ a warm water cascade. Yes here I cant feel this without overlalppong- it has to be this and that and that also- feeeling in delhi are like it’s masala chaats. Delhi beds become streets- yes open windows if not air condietioners are on bring eveyr odor- here I am learning how to love the disgusting. How to hold them in me- without that shudder- to feel about it like I feel about regular happiness. I am always braiding the trininty of this cities parted hair- up down middle. Old me new. The morphology f this city can’t be anything- it has to be nothing. It is nothing. I’ve been to maws of this city and known the smells- peppermint, leaf lkind cigarettes, urine. Here people like to drawl and the movements are slow- laid bACK AND some one day they are told to hurry up. Now eveyone is telling each other to acceletate their human eingnes and no one wats to . Last evenijg I asked this girl the time- she looked ath her wathc and replied- but nonw of us smiled. This city is in the fucking strange palce- it is more like a rebellious fpourteen year old kin who wears all black and drinks even if it burns their throat. If I am a thing made of hardendd and baked potter’s clay- then this city drops me- and mends me. Always mends me. In delhi there is a lil’ girlboy who’s glass eyes rflect clouds and rush. I don’t allow myself tosay a thing about this city- ive learnt everything about this place from hearsay now- hold back, sit on the bus that plys ont he longest rout- the cogested ones and the freeways- tilt your head a liitle form the window ( not too much- kids get hurt by signal boards) and let delhi dry the damp it spilled on your skinh. i was a four- in a hospital somehwere when i first saw this city afterward to forget that a flute played and and the rythm said let me love you let me hurt you, my dear kid.