(Source: thedailywhat, via thefrogman)
J. D. Salinger, Catcher in the Rye
(via iamonlyamaid)
“
We fall in love at weddings and auctions, over glasses I am going to stop here, In the Midwest, fields of corn are in love Turning on the radio I hear Stamps love envelopes, the licking proves it— In High school I once cruised Years later I met a woman Once a baby lizard loved me so completely, No one loves war,
of wine in Italian restaurants where plastic grapes hang
on the lattice, our bodies throb
in the checkout line, the bus stop, at basketball games
and we can’t keep our hands off each other
until we can—
so we turn to rubber masks and handcuffs,
falling in love again.
We go to movies and sit in the air conditioned dark
with strangers who are in love
with heroes like Peter Parker
who loves a girl he can’t have
because he loves saving the world in red and blue tights
more than he would love to have her ankles wrapped around
his waist or his tongue between her legs.
While we watch films
in which famous people play famous people
who experience pain,
the boy who sold us popcorn loves the girl
who sold us our tickets
and stares at the runs in her stockings
every night,
even though she is in love
with the skinny kid who sold her cigarettes at the 7-11,
and if the world had any compassion
it would let the two of them pass
a Marlboro Light back and forth
until their fingers eventually touched, their mouths
sucking and blowing.
If the world knew how
the light bulb loved the socket
then we would all be better off.
We could all dive head first into the sticky parts.
We could make sweat a religion
and praise the holiness of smelliness.
on this dark night,
on this country road,
where country songs
come from, and kiss her, this woman, below the trees
which are below the stars,
which are below desire.
There is a music to it, I hear it.
Johnny Rotten, Biggie Smalls, Johan Sebastian Bach, I don’t care
what they say—
I loved you the way my mouth loves teeth,
the way a boy I know would risk it all for a purple dinosaur,
who, truth be known, loved him.
with a scarecrow, his potato-sack head
and straw body, hanging out among the dog-eared stalks
like a farm-Christ full of love.
how AM loves FM the way my mother loved Elvis
whose hips all young girls loved, sitting around the television
in a poodle skirt and bobby socks.
He LOVED ME TENDER so much
that I was born after a long night of Black-Russians
and Canasta while “Jailhouse Rock” rocked.
just look at my dog
who obviously loves himself with an intensity
no human being could sustain, though you can’t say
we don’t try.
a McDonald’s drive-thru butt-naked
on a dare from a beautiful Sophomore,
only to be swallowed up by a grief
born from super-size or no super-size.
named Heavy Metal Goddess
at a party where she brought her husband,
leading him through the dance floor by a leash,
while in Texas cockroaches love with such abandon
that they wear their skeletons on the outside.
he moved into my apartment and died of hunger.
but I know a man
who loves tanks so much he wishes he had one
to pick up the groceries, drive his wife to work,
drop his daughter off at school with her Little Mermaid
lunch box, a note hidden inside
next to the apple, folded
with a love that can be translated into any language: I HOPE
YOU DO NOT SUFFER.
They say life is a journey—which is funny because it makes me think of the band Journey and Steve Perry’s awesome poof mullet. That thing was righteous. Regardless, we each have a journey we’re walking, a story we’re living as we progress through each day. Sometimes our journey is a happy one filled with good times and laughter; other times, it’s full of heartache and shame. Whichever is true of your current state, you and I are on a far reaching journey—a journey that doesn’t end until we’ve let our last breath slip from our lips.
If you and I were to sit down and discuss the intimate details of my journey thus far, we’d need several hours. It’d be soaked with tales of deceit and depression, of faltering virtues and a flawed logic. But looking back, and because our precious hindsight is so perfectly clear, I can see each roaming step I took led me, thankfully, to where I am now—happy, fulfilled, content, and following a calling I ignorantly ignored for years. No, the mistakes I made—and there were plenty—aren’t forgotten, but each one, despite my best efforts, led me to something good, something worthwhile. It only took me accepting His will for my life once and for all.
God has a plan for each of us, but He also allows us the freedom of will to make our own decisions and choose which paths we’d like to take. So what happens when the choice we make doesn’t match up to the plan He’s laid out for us? What happens when we refuse to follow our calling or His ways and we end up off track and lost? Can we ever get back? The answer is actually rather simple. Yes, we can. God tailors His plan based on each step we take so that we are never too far from jumping right back on to the path He’s chosen. And while it’s possible to feel as if we’re a million miles away from anything resembling the will of God, the plan that He so carefully crafted for us is always being altered, always being conditioned so that it’s ever-ready to accompany us should we choose to meet back up with Him.
You may have stepped away from His journey for a minute, or maybe it’s been a long while. But I can truthfully say that you’re right where you need to be. God can use you, help you, restore you right where you stand. It may not seem like it right this moment, but imagine looking back on the spot where you now stand and seeing how it soon led you to something beautiful and full of redemption. You may feel unworthy of the love and grace He has to give, and that’s understandable. But imagine looking back one grace-filled day and saying softly to yourself, “I was right where I needed to be”. Let that be you. Acknowledge where you are and know that you’re right where He needs you to be.
(Note: You can find the writer on Twitter @Cory_Copeland. Thank you so very much for reading.)
(Source: corycopeland, via denisecua)
- Nothing I MEAN NOTHING is ever what it seems.