Roses Out of Brains

Here is what I find in my search for inspiring things. Things to grow out of and grow something out of.

This blog is about the knick knacks I plant in my mind and what grows from them. So here are some knick knacks, and maybe some stuff I make, and a list of very wonderful books.

Though inaccrochable I'm very approachable, talk to me about yourself.

Dear Gaza,
I’m sorry

Dear Beirut,
I still love you like an arsonist

Dear Venice,
When that glassblower put his lips to
the glowing pipe
and I followed his breath into
an ornament
I understood grace

Dear New Orleans,
You gave me swelter and melody and
staircase after the longest winter of my life
You are where I forgave myself

Dear Boston,
I found the bird already dead
Crooked nest scattering
the pavement
and for days all I saw
was that constellation of bones

Dear Aya Nappa,
I cannot hear your name
without thinking war and ship
and two moons before coastline

Dear Tripoli,
It was whiplash
It was awful month
It was season of flinching
I won’t be coming back

Dear Rome,
When I think of my future self
She is walking your piazza
wearing something yellow

Dear Wichita,
I remember the summer songs on the radio
The car rides through the backbone
of your highways
I remember corn fields and pregnant sky
and always a thunderstorm

Dear Gaza,
I’m sorry

Dear Ramallah,
Thank you for the applause
Thank you for the seltzer water
the tableh player
the 3am tomato and bread
Thank you for the balcony

Dear Dubai,
I forgot a scarf
a silver ring
a tube of lipstick
and courage to make a mistake
I found the ring
The rest you may keep

Dear Aleppo,
Forgive me my litter
my uneaten rice
my abundance of light bulbs
Forgive me my bed soft and warm
even in January

Dear Baghdad,
Twenty six years and you still
make me cry

Dear Doha,
With you I am always dreaming of
starlit eels and honey water and swans
bathing in fluorescent sky
I miss those colors

Dear Istanbul,
Marry me

Dear Dallas,
I bought polished pebbles from
your mall kiosks
and pretended I was Aladdin
turning the soil over
and gasping

Dear Gaza,
I’m sorry

Dear Beirut,
You are cherry end of cigarette
You are pulse and tunnel
Freckles and siren
How can you fit so much?

Dear Norman, Oklahoma,
No one calls me Holly anymore
I blink slept woke wanting fairytale hair
for breakfast
loving boys with quarterback hands
and suburban smiles

Dear Las Vegas,
I’d rather not

Dear Brooklyn,
I came to you tumbled and spun
I came to you with 62 books
and the mistakes I’d gathered like splinters
You showed me where to sit

Dear Dublin,
Someday

Dear Damascus,
Nothing is as dangerous
as an unlit match
You taught us that

Dear Paris,
By beauty I meant that bridge
Those clouds and the legs my brother and I
dangled over the water

Dear Jerusalem,
Only you know what I am capable of

Dear London,
When I didn’t speak
it wasn’t because I was ungrateful
I was trying not to cry

Dear Gaza,
I’m sorry

Dear Manhattan,
I left a part of myself in that nightclub
like some paper crane with a beating heart
She is crumpled and sleeping
Do not wake her

Dear Bangkok,
I ate your fruit salted
Bare fingers peeling back skin
for shrines of gold and sugar

Dear Beirut,
I bruise as easily as you do
We are both anemic veins
and unbrushed hair and survivor’s
guilt

Dear Gaza,
When I come to you
it will be summer
Scorching sun and a music to the
shoreline
You’ll ask me
‘what took so long’
and I’ll tell you where I’ve been

—Dear Gaza by Hala Alyan [x] (via justanotherpalestinian)

(via guardianspiritofthewaters)

coelasquid:

ricktimus:

Neil deGrasse Tyson is not impressed with all your sexism.

I worked really hard making those star plates accurate, guys.

crokel:

real women have curves. real women have one single, continuous, infinite curve. real women are a hollow sphere of mass 1kg, suspended in a void. calculate real women’s acceleration if real women is struck by an object accelerating east at 5m/s/s.

Domestic violence trigger warning.

(via guardianspiritofthewaters)

4 out of 5 bridesmaids have chosen their dresses. This is how I mock the fifth.

4 out of 5 bridesmaids have chosen their dresses. This is how I mock the fifth.

http://vvlvo.tumblr.com/post/81108407051/maggotmaster-nazerine-that-is-one-of-the

maggotmaster:

nazerine:

that is one of the things about communism; no one actually presents an argument against it, western culture has just indoctrinated everyone to dismiss it out of hand with “it wouldn’t work”—without actually examining why it would or wouldn’t work, or presenting…

Planned economies aren’t efficient because they are planned by humans and humans are horrible. That’s why communism doesn’t work.

(via guardianspiritofthewaters)

stand-up-comic-gifs:

Like fiery eyeball thing, no problem. But don’t even try to imagine a Samoan elf. (x)

Which is total bullshit because there are 3 races of hobbits and one is totally brown-skinned and they are also like the most common one.

Tolkien may have intended to make a white dominated world but there is NO NEED to keep it that way when you are doing a visual interpretation of it. It’s not like BEING WHITE is necessary for the story to make sense. Black Aragorn is still going to struggle with the weight of his birthright. Nothing about striving to prevent the domination of all life by an evil overlord is exclusive to the white experience……. Actually.. in fact… wait a minute…..

(via thesheertruth)

The Interrogation by Amit Mujmudar

When they leathered his arm to the armrest and began like manicurists in a nail salon he says that he “retreated” from his hand until the part of him that dwelt there once was gone and heard no news from his own outer reaches. In his memoir of those years, he sketches the tricks he used, one of which was “vision.” 

I imagined my arm as a slope I had to scale,

shaft of the humerus as smooth as shale

but white like bone and giving way like sand

wherever I set foot. I couldn’t stand,

couldn’t take a breather, or I’d ride my own

disintegration down and end up on

the shore - which was my hand, my fingernails.

I crested my shoulder, rested on its knoll.

I looked down then and saw the pain as men

charging uphill to where I hid my sense

of pain. At once I stomped a foot to see

the whole arm crack, calve, crash into the sea,

disarticulated, part of me no more.

I did this for the other arm and for

my feet and testicles and eyes until

I found myself on a Pacific atoll

that had not latitude, no longtidue.

I built a hut, I scuttled the one canoe.

I saw a sun that weighed a kiloton

and the power cord by which it swung.

—- Amit Mujmudar

coelasquid:

I think I would have liked Legolas a lot more if he was just constantly rambling this strange stream of consciousness out loud to no one in particular.

Orlando Bloom needs to record voice over for the entire trilogy now.

(Source: parksandrings, via ktshy)