my svpply
ask me anything
i post poems with other ladies at grammatolatry
Install Theme

We’ll all be forgotten

(Source: aizuko, via arabellesicardi)

lauracallaghanillustration:

I drew a comic about finding true love in a digital age

lololololololololololololololololol

(via throwherinthewater)

emmkatko:

"Cause I’m a Bad Boy Baby" 2013

EKK

edition of 1

(Source: 0ci0, via loureedssunglasses)

euo:

“I feel very low in myself. I can’t see much in the future, and I feel that any second something terrible is going to happen to me.
A Clockwork Orange (1971) dir. Stanley Kubrick

euo:

I feel very low in myself. I can’t see much in the future, and I feel that any second something terrible is going to happen to me.

A Clockwork Orange (1971) dir. Stanley Kubrick

I will, I’ll always remember
The days, the nights we spent together
The happiness of being with you
The sorrow of parting from you


More than a hundred miles away
You live, for sure I love you always
Seeing you again was heaven
Now you’re gone again and it’s hell

September’s not
September’s not so far away

I will never again ask you
If there, if there is any chance
I understand you wanted to be
Wanted to be totally free

I hope every call is from you
I’m not convinced I should not love you
I am really missing you so
Wanting to be kissing you so

vega-ofthe-lyre:

from Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out by Richard Siken

vega-ofthe-lyre:

from Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out by Richard Siken

(Source: eros-turannos, via sea-change)

There were things I wanted to tell him. But I knew they would hurt him. So I buried them, and let them hurt me.

— Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (via larmoyante)

(via intersectionalityorbullshit)

Love, for you,
is larger than the usual romantic love. It’s like a religion. It’s
terrifying. No one
will ever want to sleep with you

Richard Siken, “Litany in Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out” (via sbhoola)

(Source: sunposting, via sbhoola)

Why didn’t I learn to treat everything like it was the last time. My greatest regret was how much I believed in the future.

— Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (via itscherryamber)

(Source: larmoyante, via loureedssunglasses)

harinef:


90 Days and 90 Nights by Hari Nef
Here’s what happened:
On day 14, I didn’t have sex with the businessman visiting from Israel who wanted to stick his hand down the front of my jeans but didn’t want to look at me.
On day 16, I didn’t have sex with the guy who’d slept with at least three of my best friends because it seemed too easy.
On day 18, I didn’t have sex with the man I kissed in the lounge because he might have given me chlamydia last year.
On day 50, I didn’t have sex with the straight guy who vanished from campus last year who greeted me by telling me I looked beautiful and that he hadn’t had sex in a very long time and that was really eating him lately.
On day 50, I also didn’t have sex with the net artist I met on Tinder who strictly wanted to collaborate.
On day 68, I didn’t have sex with the well-read swimmer I met in the undergraduate dean of Columbia’s boardroom.
On day 78, I didn’t have sex with the very handsome young man who seemed to like me (I got drunk off the Moët opened bar and demanded his intentions).
On day 85, I once again didn’t have sex with my ex-partner after we shot these photos for the first installment of my sex column, which I would happen to file after not having sex for 90 days.
Early in the day, Zak texted me, trying to get a sense for my angle:
Lolol ok
Coul u re iterate what your gonna be talking about
 _____________________________________________
hari and men fall 2k13 loll
seeing, being seen
being more available and more untouchable than ever
hating men worshipping men etc
negotiating the ways i can snatch validation from them
 _____________________________________________
Ok
Cool thank you
These have been the 90 days since the end of the 370 days I dated Zak. The past 510 days have been crazy:
I turned 20, then I turned 21.
Waxed my chest four times, and lasered it twice.
Smoked 16 ounces of weed.
Mourned three deaths.
Lost 20 pounds.
Gained 4,000 followers on 2 social media platforms.
Worked three internships and got fired from one.
Backed out on the better part of one gender.
The 90 days have not made sense of themselves. They sent mixed messages about what I wanted and what I could get. They drove me out of my dorm room and right back into it. They taught me about the blood work and the hormones. They closed my body up. They turned me out. They exalted me. 
I counted each day ardently, stubbornly, sobbing into a bong and knowing my beauty. I sent one-word scorchers to contacts with no surnames. I scoffed at proposals for threesomes and I never missed rehearsals. Tinder and OKCupid sent me daily alerts of compatible pairings. They lay untouched by either party.
Zak answers me when I text him. I’ve texted him seven times since we broke up. Jokes come first, compliments. I blossom from the contact. I ask him how he is; I bury him in my latest triumph. But then I get weird. I  switch to lower case letters. I solar-print myself in the image of a romcom heroine, smiling through tears:
yeah mom told me I was nicer when i had a boyfriend if u can believe that
at least people have stopped coming up to me IN THE CLUB being like
“did you and zak break up”
i can’t decide whether i’m like “that’s funny” or “that’s depressing”
probably both lol
But I’m no match for him. He knows how to handle me. He’ll send back some single word, lurid and kind. Zak is good at not wanting me anymore. He lets me down easy. I’m always thinking about how mean I was to him, and how good he felt on top of me. Zak was my first or second love. I love Zak.
He showed up 32 minutes late and set up his camera equipment.  He watched me get naked and wrap myself up in a dusty black sheet. I never looked into the lens; I counted my powers. I asked him if he’d had sex with anyone since we broke up. He told me he had. I asked if he’d noticed that I’d lost weight. He told me people had been talking about it. The battery died and he went over to change it. I took my phone out and found Zak’s new lover on Facebook within 10 seconds.
I threw myself on a rusty old bed; I moved my body and touched it. I gave him what I thought he deserved, and what I thought I deserved. I wanted to push a safety pin into my throat.
Photography by Zak Krevitt
Hari Nef is an actress, writer, and casting director living in New York City.

Check out the first installment of my sex column for Adult Magazine. 

harinef:

90 Days and 90 Nights by Hari Nef

Here’s what happened:

On day 14, I didn’t have sex with the businessman visiting from Israel who wanted to stick his hand down the front of my jeans but didn’t want to look at me.

On day 16, I didn’t have sex with the guy who’d slept with at least three of my best friends because it seemed too easy.

On day 18, I didn’t have sex with the man I kissed in the lounge because he might have given me chlamydia last year.

On day 50, I didn’t have sex with the straight guy who vanished from campus last year who greeted me by telling me I looked beautiful and that he hadn’t had sex in a very long time and that was really eating him lately.

On day 50, I also didn’t have sex with the net artist I met on Tinder who strictly wanted to collaborate.

On day 68, I didn’t have sex with the well-read swimmer I met in the undergraduate dean of Columbia’s boardroom.

On day 78, I didn’t have sex with the very handsome young man who seemed to like me (I got drunk off the Moët opened bar and demanded his intentions).

On day 85, I once again didn’t have sex with my ex-partner after we shot these photos for the first installment of my sex column, which I would happen to file after not having sex for 90 days.

Early in the day, Zak texted me, trying to get a sense for my angle:

Lolol ok

Coul u re iterate what your gonna be talking about

 _____________________________________________

hari and men fall 2k13 loll

seeing, being seen

being more available and more untouchable than ever

hating men worshipping men etc

negotiating the ways i can snatch validation from them

 _____________________________________________

Ok

Cool thank you

These have been the 90 days since the end of the 370 days I dated Zak. The past 510 days have been crazy:

I turned 20, then I turned 21.

Waxed my chest four times, and lasered it twice.

Smoked 16 ounces of weed.

Mourned three deaths.

Lost 20 pounds.

Gained 4,000 followers on 2 social media platforms.

Worked three internships and got fired from one.

Backed out on the better part of one gender.

The 90 days have not made sense of themselves. They sent mixed messages about what I wanted and what I could get. They drove me out of my dorm room and right back into it. They taught me about the blood work and the hormones. They closed my body up. They turned me out. They exalted me. 

I counted each day ardently, stubbornly, sobbing into a bong and knowing my beauty. I sent one-word scorchers to contacts with no surnames. I scoffed at proposals for threesomes and I never missed rehearsals. Tinder and OKCupid sent me daily alerts of compatible pairings. They lay untouched by either party.

Zak answers me when I text him. I’ve texted him seven times since we broke up. Jokes come first, compliments. I blossom from the contact. I ask him how he is; I bury him in my latest triumph. But then I get weird. I  switch to lower case letters. I solar-print myself in the image of a romcom heroine, smiling through tears:

yeah mom told me I was nicer when i had a boyfriend if u can believe that

at least people have stopped coming up to me IN THE CLUB being like

“did you and zak break up”

i can’t decide whether i’m like “that’s funny” or “that’s depressing”

probably both lol

But I’m no match for him. He knows how to handle me. He’ll send back some single word, lurid and kind. Zak is good at not wanting me anymore. He lets me down easy. I’m always thinking about how mean I was to him, and how good he felt on top of me. Zak was my first or second love. I love Zak.

He showed up 32 minutes late and set up his camera equipment.  He watched me get naked and wrap myself up in a dusty black sheet. I never looked into the lens; I counted my powers. I asked him if he’d had sex with anyone since we broke up. He told me he had. I asked if he’d noticed that I’d lost weight. He told me people had been talking about it. The battery died and he went over to change it. I took my phone out and found Zak’s new lover on Facebook within 10 seconds.

I threw myself on a rusty old bed; I moved my body and touched it. I gave him what I thought he deserved, and what I thought I deserved. I wanted to push a safety pin into my throat.

Photography by Zak Krevitt

Hari Nef is an actress, writer, and casting director living in New York City.

Check out the first installment of my sex column for Adult Magazine

(via harinef)