Related Recs

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Laura i want you pulling your hair back by Natalie dunn

Behind your ears, boiling pasta and forgetting about six minutes, letting it turn to glue. I remember once you said, this tree is torn to shreds and we stood and stripped it further. The night I looked at you terrified. This was back when we belonged to no one, when your hand found my rib in the dark. I played dumb so as not to lose you. I watched you choose lovers, watched as you changed on a whim when a man entered the room. Laura, I want you embarrassed by long dresses, by the fun of the carnival. I remember the first time I convinced you to keep living. It didn’t take much. I tricked you into walking to the place on the corner with cheese danishes glazed thick with sugar. We never got them. On the sidewalk a child was playing in her plastic kitchen. She poured us imaginary water, offered us mud soup. We put out our hands. You took the mud almost to your mouth.

@elleney

Feb 13, 2025

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date idea

The sharp scent of rain tumbles clumsily in as you tease window-hinges wider with the pads of your fingers. A siren trails close behind, uninvited, sears your eardrums, dies off down the block. Your neighbors are arguing again. Laundry, loans, lack of commitment… like yesterday, like the day before. You think it would be suffocating to wrap yourself up in someone else’s sheets.  It’s five o’clock. Leaning against the sill and flicking the radio dial with one recently manicured nail, you tune into the local news. Roaring wall of static, then calm conversation between two anchors bubbling up through an old set of Panasonic loudspeakers. You are feeling incomplete today, like yesterday, like the day before. Rigatoni boils in the kitchen. You check the leftmost cabinet and find strawberry jam, unopened. You check the cupboard and look over a tub of tahini, a collection of canned soup, and a stack of pie tins. You check the counter, behind the cutlery. Finally, you check the fridge, ducking down to see only your own brown-eyed reflection in one last — now empty — jar of Prego. Your shoulders dip. You slip on white sneakers, not-so-white-as-they-once-were. Why did you try to paint the front door? It is peeling now, ugly like a fledgling losing young feathers. Flecks of buttery yellow dapple paisley carpeting. The great outdoors wait for you at the bottom of a cramped stairwell with twin light fixtures, both broken. A sky like an old sweater is draped above Brooklyn, ready to wring itself out again at any moment. Once around the block, rubber soles brushing damp cement, you walk briskly. At first you fling yourself against the humidity, then become self-conscious and adopt a slower pace as you near the corner store. Two dollars, sixty cents. Like last week, like the week before.  You and I, we are looking down at our phones and stumble into each other, halfway home. It is no one’s fault. You recognize me from somewhere, you say, and feel like a bad person for lying. You have never seen me before in your life. I ask for your number. That night you eat too quickly, knowing you’ll wish you’d saved some leftovers. I come over once, then again. We go out for dinner at tacky restaurants, where art deco posters from the nineteen-thirties have pinned themselves up in scattered flocks across worn-out drywall and the menu is printed with strange font on laminated placemats. The appetizer sample photos are unnerving; the bruschetta cowers like a scared animal awash in excessive camera flash. I make a joke about it, and you laugh. We order dishes to share. The food is always better than I expected, but not quite as good as you wanted it to be. You don’t mind. We talk for hours. We agree, ballpoint pens are better. I hold you, and the ten p.m. bus pulls you out of my arms and through the dusky streets, past crowds and utility poles. I hold you, and we rhyme our steps. Burgundy is around us in the leaves and in the dirt. You wear a coat I gave you. I hold you, and we swat flies out on your porch. The days are getting shorter. I hold you, and we watch blu-ray CDs you found on sale. Soft light from the flatscreen plays across your face as you fall asleep. I keep the movie on a little longer. I hold you. In December, we bring a blanket to Long Island and listen to the sound of snow falling on the dunes. You call in sick for work too often. I hold you, and you know my callouses well. We share the same sheets; we are wrapped up in each other. I hold you, and kiss your hair. You smell like candied oranges. The afternoons eat away at one another. Dishes pile like uneven layer-cakes in your kitchen sink, crested with suds. You say you feel uninspired. Now we argue about laundry, and the sounds of your unhappy apartment are heard through half-open windows.  You shout, eyebrows furrowed like the pages of a book. A white plate soars from the grip of a trembling hand, misses an upturned chin, and interrupts us with its shattering. This time, it’s different. Sleep escapes us ‘til the sun is already planted on the easternmost rooftop. I hurt you the way I learned to, and stay awhile, but don’t know why I stay. We sink into sweet, heavy things: the saxophone in “Charcoal Baby”, shared creamsicles on hot Saturday evenings. I see you less and less, and remember less and less of you. Will I see you next week? Yes, if you text me. You forget, just like we’d both hoped.

@ad

Sep 17, 2024

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FUCK IT THE ENTIRE PAMELAD

Aka Pamela Anderson’s Epic Poem. from July 2014 on Facebook. you are welcome The Pamelad Smoldering... I know it's bad for you... But, this is when I wish, I had a cigarette- something I've never tried- (light up) some kind of relief.. I wish it was Italy 40 years ago-- The moon rising over the Amphitheater-- to tremendous applause... like Herzog (clap) Europeans don't seem to care about silly smoking laws?, We do what we want anyway - behind closed doors-- Our true character, collective complexities. childish activities - patterns- genetics? Attention deficit- - ...SEX ... a lost art-- a sickness-- Perversions- Lost sensuality - The cruel smell of orange blossoms... I love being in love– but expectations, make it impossible to be happy- or satisfied… I've tried… so hard.. maybe it's not in fashion– Tradition…just seemed so romantic…, I guess it's a used up ideal – for the old fashion… not modern… Female security… lost- no way– Coded, and loaded Cell phones, Computers — Ordering sex on line- is like ordering a book on Amazon– and … snooping eats you alive– A mirrored action. obsessive love… unhealthy, hopeless- knocked sideways– There is always this feeling - of discontent– Like something is off… I can't put my finger on why– Who wants to be the Warden– I want out of here– out of this time – in space– Grey, muted crystals, from unsavory places- bad intentions, dull- no fire-- a secret life - Laying in my hotel bed-- pulling up my stockings- carefully re-attaching to the garter- , The cuban heel- the line (right on course) the works... Feeling a little guilty- I started to fantasize-- Il Postino, Pablo Neruda- Should I go to Capri--? So frustrated-- burning... questions... No man knows what to do with me-- I blame myself-- To play with me, is eternal-- I'm not 'on the clock' or… on the 'payroll'– rrrr– I had to get out of the room- The velvet stuff and porcelain things closing in on me– What have I done...? I knew it was wrong from the start-- primitive-- base instinct.. Never marry a rich man... Euros from a Vagabond.. Just start walking - (Like Jeanne Moreau and Miles Davis) Never look back- There is only beauty ahead, Salvation.. Glory Rushing... I almost forgot where I was-- shit-- My white Burberry trench - - on the floor? A Parkay floor… (Narration by a deep voiced sexy black guy) BG- She stopped to admire it's clever design, ME- "So pretty" BG wrapped herself up— She snuck out the door with a quiet click, and Seamlessly, floating down the hall- (on wire) Her Tom Ford feet didn't touch the ground– Falling gracelessly into an elevator playing Nat King Cole's …. Stardust? (remembering the movie) ME- "Fallen Angel?" BG Nobody was up yet- out into the cool world she goes, ME-"Freedom… I can breathe…" BG- looking for a little human contact? Playful seduction? … ME- "I'm so Hungry…" BG- Her heart was racing— It was barely dawn — Bathed in perfect light- magic hour– — ME- "Everyone looks good this early" BG- Even cats and hummingbirds Was anyone watching her.. She gazed up into dark windows… to nobody… and let the jacket fall loosely around her shoulders… The rush coming back- … a little lost on purpose, Hiding around corners, ME- so dangerous- my body is on fire…. my body is never done– trouble finds me– please find me- The iron is always hot!" BG- She Leaned against the cool wall of a stoney church- It felt good, soothing- ME- I wonder how prostitution works- Does it ever feel good? Lost little souls - being taken advantage of-- or taking advantage of- Is it just for money? Is it for attention? or --- both-- Women suffer- - Everywhere... rules, rules, rules-- conflicting needs.. I can't find the answers-- It's an epidemic-- I know I won't compete with a computer-- or - a gaggle of hollywood boys hiring poor Russian girls to swallow loaves of bread up their anus'?- How does that work?" BG- She was disturbed-- How far can she take this?-- Is it even real?-- ME- "Have we lost men to thin air--- to the Abyss-- to technology and lube- Flesh is attached to a heart and a brain- takes effort...and skill... Where are the great lovers?-- A lost art... God , I hope not... I've never been to Columbia-- Should I go?- I really want to go! Is this Hysteria?… Objectification? now– Coming down from the ceiling, dripping in gold glitter– Dancing with Nureyev- eyes closed— the dream… arousing my tenderness, A sweet rawness- feeling bruised and scratched up– Hypnotic - Life is sensual– not a "fix it in post"– ME- I miss PLAYBOY- The End of an Era– Chivalry, elegance- Celebrated imperfections - differences… hot—passionate dreamy scenes… The girl next door– shyness– "it's my first time" but - not my last….(wink) – I'm planning a mysterious coup– Want to get in on it– Julian Assange? Is it healthy, to be fantasied about… by many men –? Isn't that the goal- How many can we effect– It's natural– to want to be desired– The world creeps up on you– and there you are, ALL over the place- places you never intended to be– (desert storm?) (soldiers) I am human you know– left to adjust to the madness- No mercy- pay the price– my fault- BG- feeling empty, sad– withdrawn- Left to Isolate– Medicate. Go to sleep– ME-NO! I wont- - ME- You know- It's not freaky enough, to just be beautiful– I've never felt beautiful- I always felt sexual… and blind.. oh wowwy… I'm losing my mind– I'm shutting down– It's such a strange feeling… going numb… in front of everyone—- It's like a Self inflicted drowning…hard to do– (Alarm bells!!)— When did I want to be this thing?– To attract what? When did I go from a curious little girl, to an insatiable woman? Girl on the run… Femme fatale… devoted and ….divided. Are we all going crazy? - or, is it just me? Is it that stuff on unwashed vegetables? When did I lose control over my own heart?– When did I start believing , That this is all I'm good for- against my better judgement– fell for it- dammit- it all backfired– It doesn't feel good to be used, neglected, ignored— controlled…. I'm not doing this— It's humiliating - I have to turn this around– Settling is powerless- desperate– an illusion– Can't buy your way out of this one …buddy!!, I'm cold- (She can't stop laughing..) Reminds me of a play I wrote -- That one about The Hell's Angels, starring - Steve Queen and Brigitte Bardot-- The Entr' Acte.... ** A car chase- She is going on and on (in french) and He's just trying to have his way with her- everything is double entree' Funny/Sexy-(subtitles projected) They've stolen billions in diamonds - she's dripping from head to toe... in a sparkly madness of laughter--- 60's Porsche?- (or that GT/Bullit car) All in a Car - bouncing and swerving-- lights- facing the audience-- (with BW projections from the 60's behind them--)... They fall in love-- They fall apart--- I'm not sure what the The Hells Angels have to do with it-- but they stay in the title--- The End....

@bitchscape

Apr 10, 2025

Top Recs from @elleney

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crying

I am not a very emotional person especially compared to my close friends who cry often and share their life and struggles to me this year something happened to me that got me very sad and I cried hard for a long time that day, I had felt like a dam broke in my mind and all of a sudden I began to cry over everything (tiktoks, stars, little women) when I reflect on this, I feel sad that my happiness has seemingly decreased, however(!) I now feel much happier and healthier because I am letting out my emotions rather than keeping them to myself I also have come to love the sensation of crying. it's a fun and interesting state to be in physically and mentally and it's really kinda cool now instead of thinking that I am just less emotional than other people, I've realized that I too have the capacity to feel things and I'm happy ❤️🫧🌷

@elleney

Dec 30, 2024

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knights

I have the flu and lately when I go to sleep and I'm kinda tossing and turning and coughing I'm thinking about knights I keep accidentally falling into a pattern of sorta choreographing knights like moving them around into specific spots and positions and motions for some reason and I cant stop even when I try to think of something else it's real scary actually

@elleney

Feb 8, 2025

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Paul blart mall cop loch ness monster tramp stamp

@elleney

Feb 28, 2025

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