Lately from phone. 1.) Ivies at work; 2.) at a construction site; 3.) double rainbows; 4.) prints.
March to April 2014.
Off to California in four hours. No sleep yet, too excited to. Gio, the drive to Arizona, my dad, sisters, a 2-night stay in Venice Beach—all wrapped in five and a half days.
All we know is falling. Ha.
Funeral Blues by W. H. Auden
read by Tom Hiddleston
Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum,
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message ‘He is Dead’.
Put crepe bows round the white necks of the public doves,
Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.
He was my North, my South, my East, and West,
My working week and my Sunday rest,
My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;
I thought that love would last forever: I was wrong.
The stars are not wanted now; put out every one,
Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun,
Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood;
For nothing now can ever come to any good.
My favorite poem read by a fantastic actor with an English accent. This post was basically begging to be reblogged.