sam winchester with pink-and-brown-tinged nose and fingertips and chin and shoulders because of the golden sun caught and pushing against every inch of his skin
sam winchester floating on his back in a deep lake naked with his ears submerged because the sound of the water is like music to him
sam winchester sweaty and too-hot laying in the back seat of the impala because it’s easier making the wind blow to cool the earth down while he’s at home
sam winchester looping together dense clouds and standing fully clothed in the middle of a wheat field as warm rain washes the dirt and grime of a hunt from the cracks of his skin
sam winchester making apple orchards bloom to their full potential and melting ice cream out of the bottoms of waffle cones and pulling waves against beaches and dipping the sun behind the horizon late and glorifying the smells of summer because he is a summer god and that is what he does
Fecund by Kate McDowell
Day 29 - Your dream host
One might ask why John Cho? Sure I could pick anyone I wanted to and there are a bunch of people out there that needs to host SNL, yet I’m picking John and anyone has a problem with that, then stop reading.
First of all, there hasn’t been anyone of Asian descent that hosted SNL since 2000 with Jackie Chan and Lucy Liu. Wow, ten years…are you serious? Seth Meyers was in a movie with John. Meyers, put in a good word for Cho. Does Seth not realize that he would gain so many fans that are Asian? Once you go Asian, you never go back.
John would be a great SNL host. He has great comedic timing. John can act very well and adapt to any situation. Also he can sing and play the guitar. If the show needs him to play a young character, John can do it. People have a hard time believing that he’s 38 years old. Asians don’t age people until we’re 50 something year olds.
And how can we forget that he’s a GQMF. That qualifies him to host big time.
After making a mere $84 million at the U.S. box office, Star Trek Into Darkness is considered by some to be a disappointment. Perhaps the problem is that it was a touch confusing. To help our readers better understand it, we’ve complied and answered these…
photos by Gustavo Papaleo for John Lewis magazine
While this is really cool, I wish it wouldn’t say “untranslatable” or “for which English has no words” and then translate them. Translation doesn’t mean finding a 1:1 ratio or word-for-word equivalent. More accurate would be “Emotions in Languages Other than English that Have No One-Word English Equivalent.”
The worst of all possible things that could happen would be to lose that language [that black people love so much]. There are certain things I cannot say without recourse to my language. It’s terrible to think that a child with five different present tenses comes to school to be faced with those books that are less than his own language. And then to be told things about his language, which is him, that are sometimes permanently damaging… This is a really cruel fallout of racism. I know the Standard English. I want to use it to help restore the other language, the lingua franca.
1. He ø runnin. Standard American English (SAE )= He is running.
2. He be runnin. SAE = He is usually running or He will/would be running.
3. He be steady runnin. SAE = He is usually running in an intensive, sustained manner, or He will/would be running in an intensive, sustained manner.
4. He(’s) been/bin runnin. SAE He has been running–at some earlier point, but probably not now.
Other examples: I been knowing her. SAE = I have known her.
About eleven o’clock he been eating. SAE = … he was eating.
5. He BEEN/BIN runnin’. SAE = He has been running for a long time, and still is.
-This is a use of the African American English (AAE) stressed been/remote BIN.
My mother Toni Morrison on AAVE (via howtobeterrell)
this is for whoever was telling me that AAVE isn’t a real thing… UGH
Note how precise each AAVE phrase is.
Cries from perfection
For anyone who thinks aave is just slang.
You wait on it for months, run your tongue over and over your teeth while you sit across from him: in cheap-tablecloth restaurants, in low-lit bars, in his mother’s house with your hands clasped together under the table. Sometimes your knee brushes the inside of his thigh while you’re making love and the faint sound of flesh on flesh leaves you so tender that you want to laugh, lighthearted, for ever having been scared to tell him — then you catch sight of the hard line of his mouth, the way every part of him gets colder when he thinks you’re not looking, and it ices you over too until even your throat feels chilled. You think sometimes that he is the love of your life except for this, this secret that creeps along your veins like ivy until you creak with every step, a settling house.
It trips out of your mouth one afternoon like an accident, like a slip-up, but it isn’t one. It’s as calculated as the way he drifts away from you, day by aching day so it doesn’t seem indecent, while you keep licking over the enamel of your teeth like it’ll erase every cunt you ever tongued.