May 2013
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“Here at the Light Emporium we sell light.
Bottles of light.
Fluorescent...”
– Shinji Moon; “The Light Emporium” (via commovente)
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a stray dog paced up and down a back alley one night, howling at the moon. 5 stories up, a woman blocked out the sound of an incessantly crying child and tilted her head to the sky. the cheap 1970s light fixture ignited a slow warmth beneath her skin as the frayed red edges of a thin polyester throw tickled the back of her arm. the dog hollered once more, the child screamed, and the ceiling fan in...
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“I don’t always respect myself, but I almost never respect men....”
– The Lacuna, Barbara Kingsolver
