taken-by-sylvia

Remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it… I want to become acutely aware of all I’ve taken for granted.
—  Sylvia Plath
I swear to every heaven ever imagined,
if I hear one more dead-eyed hipster
tell me that art is dead, I will personally summon Shakespeare
from the grave so he can tell them every reason
why he wishes he were born in a time where
he could have a damn Gmail account.
The day after I taught my mother
how to send pictures over Iphone she texted
me a blurry image of our cocker spaniel ten times in a row.
Don’t you dare try to tell me that that is not beautiful.
But whatever, go ahead and choose to stay in
your backwards-hoping-all-inclusive club
while the rest of us fall in love over Skype.
Send angry letters to state representatives,
as we record the years first sunrise so
we can remember what beginning feels like when
we are inches away from the trigger.
Lock yourself away in your Antoinette castle
while we eat cake and tweet to the whole universe that we did.
Hashtag you’re a pretentious ass hole.
Van Gogh would have taken 20 selflies a day.
Sylvia Plath would have texted her lovers
nothing but heart eyed emojis when she ran out of words.
Andy Warhol would have had the worlds weirdest Vine account,
and we all would have checked it every morning while we
Snap Chat our coffee orders to the people
we wish were pressed against our lips instead of lattes.
This life is spilling over with 85 year olds
rewatching JFK’s assassination and
7 year olds teaching themselves guitar over Youtube videos.
Never again do I have to be afraid of forgetting
what my fathers voice sounds like.
No longer must we sneak into our families phonebook
to look up an eating disorder hotline for our best friend.
No more must I wonder what people in Australia sound like
or how grasshoppers procreate.
I will gleefully continue to take pictures of tulips
in public parks on my cellphone
and you will continue to scoff and that is okay.
But I hope, I pray, that one day you will realize how blessed
you are to be alive in a moment where you can google search
how to say I love you in 164 different languages.

I swear to every heaven ever imagined,
if I hear one more dead-eyed hipster
tell me that art is dead, I will personally summon Shakespeare
from the grave so he can tell them every reason
why he wishes he were born in a time where
he could have a damn Gmail account.
The day after I taught my mother
how to send pictures over Iphone she texted
me a blurry image of our cocker spaniel ten times in a row.
Don’t you dare try to tell me that that is not beautiful.
But whatever, go ahead and choose to stay in
your backwards-hoping-all-inclusive club
while the rest of us fall in love over Skype.
Send angry letters to state representatives,
as we record the year’s first sunrise so
we can remember what beginning feels like when
we are inches away from the trigger.
Lock yourself away in your Antoinette castle
while we eat cake and tweet to the whole universe that we did.
Hashtag you’re a pretentious ass hole.
Van Gogh would have taken 20 selflies a day.
Sylvia Plath would have texted her lovers
nothing but heart eyed emojis when she ran out of words.
Andy Warhol would have had the worlds weirdest Vine account,
and we all would have checked it every morning while we
Snap Chat our coffee orders to the people
we wish were pressed against our lips instead of lattes.
This life is spilling over with 85 year olds
rewatching JFK’s assassination and
7 year olds teaching themselves guitar over Youtube videos.
Never again do I have to be afraid of forgetting
what my fathers voice sounds like.
No longer must we sneak into our families phonebook
to look up an eating disorder hotline for our best friend.
No more must I wonder what people in Australia sound like
or how grasshoppers procreate.
I will gleefully continue to take pictures of tulips
in public parks on my cellphone
and you will continue to scoff and that is okay.
But I hope, I pray, that one day you will realize how blessed
you are to be alive in a moment where you can google search
how to say I love you in 164 different languages.

Remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I’ve taken for granted.
—  Sylvia Plath

b.e fitzgerald

I swear to every heaven ever imagined,

if I hear one more dead-eyed hipster

tell me that art is dead, I will personally summon Shakespeare

from the grave so he can tell them every reason

why he wishes he were born in a time where

he could have a damn Gmail account.

The day after I taught my mother

how to send pictures over Iphone she texted

me a blurry image of our cocker spaniel ten times in a row.

Don’t you dare try to tell me that that is not beautiful.

But whatever, go ahead and choose to stay in

your backwards-hoping-all-inclusive club

while the rest of us fall in love over Skype.

Send angry letters to state representatives,

as we record the years first sunrise so

we can remember what beginning feels like when

we are inches away from the trigger.

Lock yourself away in your Antoinette castle

while eat cake and tweet to the whole universe that we did.

Hashtag you’re a pretentious ass hole.

Van Gogh would have taken 20 selflies a day.

Sylvia Plath would have texted her lovers

nothing but heart eyed emojis when she ran out of words.

Andy Warhol would have had the worlds weirdest Vine account,

and we all would have checked it every morning while we

Snap Chat our coffee orders to the people

we wish were pressed against our lips instead of lattes.

This life is spilling over with 85 year olds

rewatching JFK’s assassination and

7 year olds teaching themselves guitar over Youtube videos.

Never again do I have to be afraid of forgetting

what my fathers voice sounds like.

No longer must we sneak into our families phonebook

to look up an eating disorder hotline for our best friend.

No more must I wonder what people in Australia sound like

or how grasshoppers procreate.

I will gleefully continue to take pictures of tulips

in public parks on my cellphone

and you will continue to scoff and that is okay.

But I hope, I pray, that one day you will realize how blessed

you are to be alive in a moment where you can google search

how to say I love you in 164 different languages.

anonymous asked:

Top 5 favourite quotes by anyone

“Art washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life.” – Pablo Picasso

“Nature never did betray the heart that loved her.” – Wordsworth

“Remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I’ve taken for granted.” – Sylvia Plath

“If I didn’t define myself for myself, I would be crunched into other people’s fantasies for me and eaten alive.” – Audre Lorde

“I loved you, so I drew these tides of men into my hands and wrote my will across the sky in stars.” – T.E. Lawrence

This was difficult.

Live it, feel it, cling to it.

Remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I’ve taken for granted.

~ Sylvia Plath, The Journals of Sylvia Plath 1950-1962 (Faber & Faber; New edition edition, April 9, 2001)

Art Is a Facebook Status About Your Winter Break

by B.E. Fitzgerald

I swear to every heaven ever imagined,
if I hear one more dead-eyed hipster
tell me that art is dead, I will personally summon Shakespeare
from the grave so he can tell them every reason
why he wishes he were born in a time where
he could have a damn Gmail account.
The day after I taught my mother
how to send pictures over Iphone she texted
me a blurry image of our cocker spaniel ten times in a row.
Don’t you dare try to tell me that that is not beautiful.
But whatever, go ahead and choose to stay in
your backwards-hoping-all-inclusive club
while the rest of us fall in love over Skype.
Send angry letters to state representatives,
as we record the years first sunrise so
we can remember what beginning feels like when
we are inches away from the trigger.
Lock yourself away in your Antoinette castle
while eat cake and tweet to the whole universe that we did.
Hashtag you’re a pretentious ass hole.
Van Gogh would have taken 20 selflies a day.
Sylvia Plath would have texted her lovers
nothing but heart eyed emojis when she ran out of words.
Andy Warhol would have had the worlds weirdest Vine account,
and we all would have checked it every morning while we
Snap Chat our coffee orders to the people
we wish were pressed against our lips instead of lattes.
This life is spilling over with 85 year olds
rewatching JFK’s assassination and
7 year olds teaching themselves guitar over Youtube videos.
Never again do I have to be afraid of forgetting
what my fathers voice sounds like.
No longer must we sneak into our families phonebook
to look up an eating disorder hotline for our best friend.
No more must I wonder what people in Australia sound like
or how grasshoppers procreate.
I will gleefully continue to take pictures of tulips
in public parks on my cellphone
and you will continue to scoff and that is okay.
But I hope, I pray, that one day you will realize how blessed
you are to be alive in a moment where you can google search
how to say I love you in 164 different languages.