veganbutt:

sascoalition:

Obama will never be half the man nor love America as much as Reagan did.


Obama will never eat as many flags throughout his presidency like Reagan did.  Reagan holds the current flag-eating record at 3,463 flags during his presidency. Obama is currently only at 1,072.Here we see pictured: Reagan in action during one of his flag feedings.  This is speculated to be approximately his 560th flag consumed.

veganbutt:

sascoalition:

Obama will never be half the man nor love America as much as Reagan did.

Obama will never eat as many flags throughout his presidency like Reagan did. Reagan holds the current flag-eating record at 3,463 flags during his presidency. Obama is currently only at 1,072.
Here we see pictured: Reagan in action during one of his flag feedings. This is speculated to be approximately his 560th flag consumed.

(Source: )

deliapless:

Very excited to hear today that one of my love poems won an American Academy of Poets Award. Congrats also to Max Cohen who I think came up with the idea to do the poem-a-day thing in the first place (?) and was given an honorable mention for a very prestigious poetry award.

deliapless:

Very excited to hear today that one of my love poems won an American Academy of Poets Award. Congrats also to Max Cohen who I think came up with the idea to do the poem-a-day thing in the first place (?) and was given an honorable mention for a very prestigious poetry award.

voicemailpoems:

WANNA HELP OUT?! 
another episode of the podcast is on the way next month. we’re looking for people with podcast/radio/audio experience to help curate and produce our monthly episodes. we’re also actively looking for musicians that would be willing to donate a track for our intro/outro. 
interested?shoot us an email at voicemailpoems@gmail.com.
love ya!

voicemailpoems:

WANNA HELP OUT?!

another episode of the podcast is on the way next month. we’re looking for people with podcast/radio/audio experience to help curate and produce our monthly episodes. we’re also actively looking for musicians that would be willing to donate a track for our intro/outro.

interested?shoot us an email at voicemailpoems@gmail.com.

love ya!

(via shabbydollhouse)

carrieabigstick:

Dear Intimate Pollens,
Today is the Day / The NOÖ Weekly / I Guest Edited / Comes Out of its Rainbow Prism Cunt-coon.
I’m so Happy. / I’m a Volcano.
I assigned seven of my favorite writers a color and out they came. Jared Harvey is Red. Donald Dunbar is Orange. Elisabeth Workman is Yellow. Edward Mullany is Green. Claire Donato is Blue. Bridget Mendel is Indigo. Cassandra Troyan is Violet.
Read / Weep <3 / That’s all I do. 

carrieabigstick:

Dear Intimate Pollens,

Today is the Day / The NOÖ Weekly / I Guest Edited / Comes Out of its Rainbow Prism Cunt-coon.

I’m so Happy. / I’m a Volcano.

I assigned seven of my favorite writers a color and out they came. Jared Harvey is Red. Donald Dunbar is Orange. Elisabeth Workman is Yellow. Edward Mullany is Green. Claire Donato is Blue. Bridget Mendel is Indigo. Cassandra Troyan is Violet.

Read / Weep <3 / That’s all I do. 

- 'Pomegranate Mind' by Rachel Harthcock

voicemailpoems:

'Pomegranate Mind'
by Rachel Harthcock

I remember Phil saying we should write a list of
all the people who bothered us, whispering over the phone

after the internet had cut out, ending our AIM conversation.

I remember the night we camped out
and I watched him walk into the pines to pee,
then realizing he was the only Polish person I knew.

I remember being in his family’s church
when we picked up the scent of my dad’s cologne
over the communion wine, walking back to the pews,

eyeing the yellow fabric.

And the afternoon he got so high on lased weed
that my sister drove me to pick him up off the ranch road by his parent’s house
and then she dropped us off at the mall

I remember how he was always known for not talking much
and the time he sat back in the theatre hall crying while reading Catcher in the Rye,
later describing the book to me as “aggressively mediocre” turning his face away.

At baseball games his Dad wore a Cubs hat and his Mom talked the entire time.

He disappeared in college and I thought of him
as Bertram from the Sandlot, “getting really lost in the sixties,”

But my mother ran into his at the elementary school choir concert,

he was studying geology, climbing rocks in West Texas.

Last night I was on the corner of the couch in my apartment, hurt by the misgivings of my pomegranate mind, my boyfriend needing a break

to figure out how to love me more

after carrying my skis down the side of a mountain, after pushing my car out the snow, half a mile past the No Outlet sign. His language of placing the heater on my side of the bed, of morning coffee, spliffs, of extra pairs of socks, I might need them.

I’m thinking back on Phil. Those spring nights in the hill country,
talking about the perfect combo of jalapeno cheeseburgers and butterscotch malts
or how it feels to love but not understand how.

I’m getting a hollow feeling today, the temperature up in the 40s
in the most glacial winter of recorded Midwest history

and I remember how I would always start laughing when he would look at me in the eyes,
which was wrong of me and I’d like to apologize for now.

No one deserves to be taken advantage of in these ways.


———————————————————

Rachel Harthcock called us from Detroit, MI.
More about Rachel.

1-910-703-POEM