Stuff collected. 

Supposedly, these are shot glasses. 

All the dogs are haunted
And the snow melts on the grass
You were what I wanted
But the fever could not last

In the day, I am dreaming
In the night, I am cold
While the stars are up there singing
All the dogs are growing old

(via letsspelunk-deactivated20120310)

Upside, downside.

Please dust me with golden sugar.

toseebirds:

Yes, sir - I am a Yankee girl!

I glory in the name;

You spoke it in contemptuous scorn-

To me it breathes of fame.

I’m proud of my nativity,

I love New England’s hills;

Each babbling brook and valley green,

With pride my bosom fills.

“New England and New Englanders, addressed to a New Yorker, who scoffed at Yankees”. Greenville Mountaineer, May 1847.

Finally getting out of the middle, soon.

“There is his foot, sticking out from under the sheet, asleep, naked as the day he was born. The day he was born. Maybe that’s what you have to go back to, in order to trace him here, the journey he took, step by step… Again and again.”

- “Liking Men,” Margaret Atwood

Joy Adamson and Elsa, ca. 1960.