Oh Danikova
waking up to wake up someday

All That Jazz / Samantha Barks

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It’s still you.
It’s still you.

Margaret Atwood, Shapechangers in Winter (via theunquotables)

Anonymous said: How long should I wait for him?


"You’ll find another."
“God! Banish the thought. Why don’t you tell me that “if the girl had been worth having she’d have waited for you”?
“No, sir, the girl really worth having won’t wait for anybody.”

- Ernest Hemingway


i feel like a small child roving through very tall grasses in this life, & i don’t really see much except the sky and the little bugs flying around me, but i’m something calm & things are okay, no matter what it is i’m walking away from. it’s like i’m moving through a world that i can’t quite put a finger on outside of what my arms can reach, but what i see right in front of me moves me so endlessly. how bright the green of the beetle’s back is. how the dandelion wisps move through the wind currents above it all. everything so full - do you know the feeling? when the world is on the tip of your tongue but you can’t quite explain it, but you can feel the sweet grass blowing through your teeth and you can feel how small you are and it’s very, very comforting in that moment. in any environment i find myself in, just this sense of roving & wonder keeps me moving forward, keeps the breeze touching gently, keeps everything a tip of the tongue kind of heartbeat against my chest hello hello yes, here. i’m here. 

my sis & i visited our childhood home today. the smell of the land was so distinctly familiar. the sweet smell of the forest. “do you remember this small when the sprinklers were on?” “mm, yes. and the chlorine, too.” “and the honeysuckles. do you remember the honeysuckles?” how lucky we are to have our childhood preserved, to have the playground in the woods overgrown with vines, little trees starting to grow in the old sandbox. everything we knew so pristinely preserved. fuck i hadn’t been there in years, it felt so strange to return back to it all, to look at the place in all its beauty and feel both like i was a guest and coming home. something strange in all of this. shinny & i sat on the swings & i ran my toes through the grass as i swung, thought of how i was glad i never showed anyone except for my one friend from home this place, how grateful i was that she never really told anyone about it. i don’t know. something sacred about it. never wanted to bring anyone here unless i’m gonna marry them. i kept shaking my head, looking up. there’s a magic in my world that i’m very protective about. there are so few people that i trust with stories and tellings and for the most part they’re scattered across these countries that i can’t get to. really genuinely fucking good people are hard to come by nowadays, but when i do see them it just makes everything inside my heart swell. i was raised by good, hard-working people. so many incredible people that i want so badly to make proud. meeting someone in the outside like that is like, i don’t know - returning home. 

i keep thinking about people and places and the ways in which the happiest moments of my life have been when i’ve been in open air with people who know how to laugh, i mean really, really laugh. people i rarely see but who get me on a very real, base level. people who i just innately trust because there’s still the kid in them that makes everything seem important and magical. i’m thinking about walking through these tall grasses, about feeling so much of the pleasure of coincidence when i meet someone who is wandering in the same places that i am. people who look at the world underneath the same warm light, who i’m not ashamed of talking of raw fleshy beautiful things in loud voices with, with soft grass and dirty hands and a hot, hot sun overhead. gross people who believe in laughter and loving more than anything. those are the people i call to. in all these tall grasses, tall grasses - this is home, this wandering and this wondering. this moving towards. this touching and un-touching. i keep walking around familiar places with this swelling full feeling inside of me as if something is constantly happening, and it’s making me so giddy and all this energy - this potential & kinetic texas sized margarita of energy - i feel as if i’m about to reach the end of this field abruptly, reach the edge of the tall grass, and find something important. it’s like i’m walking towards the sound of running water. it’s this sort of unbridled, child-like hope that i keep kind of pocketed inside of me always, that’s been kind of bursting out of me since that one day where i was walking home from the 92Y and dancing with my long coat trailing autumn colors behind me. that day, that night. the dogwood petals falling all over the streets. the warm air ribboning around my ankles. that night that i felt so earnestly that i was getting better. since then, it’s all been this color. i feel very much like anything incredible and unknown to me can happen. some new geography. a new smell in the earth that i haven’t known before. new stones new thorns. i feel very much like i can handle whatever curveballs live throws at me these days. i’ve already tackled so much of my life, have already come to peace with so much that has been holding me back from doing what i can to move forward. and i keep staring at the small bugs, being in awe of the different types of textures that i see around me, by this blue sky, the moonlight - and i keep forgetting to kinda jump up and look around me to see if there’s fire coming - whether it be good or bad fire, an ocean fire, a something. it’s this, oh gosh how do i put it, this overwhelming awe for something inexplicably close and far away. like i rekindled the green fuzz of light of new leaves that i’ve kind of been shying away from for a long, long time. it’s been so long since i’ve felt this honestly, since i’ve been letting myself unroll in front of other humans. since i’ve allowed myself the freedom to feel like i used to when i was a kid. my sis read me some parts of my grandpa’s autobiography tonight while we both half-glazed watched the telly, and family has been such a strange and lightweight stone in my chest. it’s no longer stifling. no longer dragging me down. but this is something else. this is really something else. how is it that i have come here, after all this time. how is it that i’ve come here. the colors of my life have shifted so drastically in the past year. i could cry i’m so grateful.


Your art is supposed to take a long time. Nothing is wrong if it’s not immediate. Apple can keep coming out with new versions because it’s the same thing over and over. It’s just a little bit faster. But it’s the same rectangle, every time. The Renaissance Masters would have laughed at each update. 

Your calm is not enough,
I do not want your still.
I want your restlessness,
all the things which
make you stir at night.
I wish to be uprooted,
and moved
in the way immovable
objects are to be moved.
I want your gale force winds,
the flooding of emotion
between breaths,
the promise of danger
and renewal.
Your calm is not enough.
Give me your storm.

Nav K (via rabbrakha)

(Source: navk, via howitzerliterarysociety)

Can’t wait for Wimbledon!

Can’t wait for Wimbledon!

(Source: groundstrokes, via miss-wimbledon)

It is World Sea Turtle Day after all.

It is World Sea Turtle Day after all.

(via jungletopia)

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