AleKa

4274

Reblog

hookedonsemiotics:

For sentiment is always intruding on form,
                                                                        the immaculate disgust of the mind
beaten down by pain and the vileness of life’s flickering disapproval,

                                    endless torment pretending to be the rose of acknowledgment
                                                                                                                         (courage) 
                                                      and fruitless absolution (hence the word: “hip”)
to be cool,
                  decisive,
                                    precise,
                                                yes, while the barn door hits you in the face
each time you get up
                                    because the wind, seeing you slim and gallant, rises
                        to embrace its darling poet. It thinks I’m mysterious.

- Frank O’Hara, from “To Hell With It” 

(via uminuscula)