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http://coffeeslut.tumblr.com/post/82712619542

coffeeslut:

When I let him into my apartment building for the first time, the stairwell smells distinctively sweet and strong, some combination of cream and honey, jasmine and orange blossoms. He exhales dramatically, “Woooof! The last person in here put on a little too much perfume.” But gardenia is a scent…

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theparisreview:

The Good Idea
While asleep, a man gives birth to an idea of a woman. He wakes and finds it curled comfortably against him.
He takes it in his arms and kisses it. It responds perfectly. He wallows in the feel of its round breasts, smooth thighs, soft pubic patch. Its warm breath and little sighs drive him wild. He keeps thinking the words “Drunk with passion at last.” He makes love to it. It’s the best he’s ever had.
They stay in bed all day. When the phone rings, they giggle and ignore it. They agree about everything.
In a lovely office, the man’s boss throws a fit, swears to fire the man, but cools down, reconsiders. While outside a giant hand works on a picture of the sky, finally blacks it all out, throws in a moon and stars, and goes away.
—Charles Webb. Photography: Csilla Klenyánszki (via).

theparisreview:

The Good Idea

While asleep, a man gives birth to an idea of a woman. He wakes and finds it curled comfortably against him.

He takes it in his arms and kisses it. It responds perfectly. He wallows in the feel of its round breasts, smooth thighs, soft pubic patch. Its warm breath and little sighs drive him wild. He keeps thinking the words “Drunk with passion at last.” He makes love to it. It’s the best he’s ever had.

They stay in bed all day. When the phone rings, they giggle and ignore it. They agree about everything.

In a lovely office, the man’s boss throws a fit, swears to fire the man, but cools down, reconsiders. While outside a giant hand works on a picture of the sky, finally blacks it all out, throws in a moon and stars, and goes away.

Charles Webb. Photography: Csilla Klenyánszki (via).

941 notes

More than putting another man on the moon,
more than a New Year’s resolution of yogurt and yoga,
we need the opportunity to dance
with really exquisite strangers. A slow dance
between the couch and dinning room table, at the end
of the party, while the person we love has gone
to bring the car around
because it’s begun to rain and would break their heart
if any part of us got wet. A slow dance
to bring the evening home, to knock it out of the park. Two people
rocking back and forth like a buoy. Nothing extravagant.
A little music. An empty bottle of whiskey.
It’s a little like cheating. Your head resting
on his shoulder, your breath moving up his neck.
Your hands along her spine. Her hips
unfolding like a cotton napkin
and you begin to think about how all the stars in the sky
are dead. The my body
is talking to your body slow dance. The Unchained Melody,
Stairway to Heaven, power-cord slow dance. All my life
I’ve made mistakes. Small
and cruel. I made my plans.
I never arrived. I ate my food. I drank my wine.
The slow dance doesn’t care. It’s all kindness like children
before they turn four. Like being held in the arms
of my brother. The slow dance of siblings.
Two men in the middle of the room. When I dance with him,
one of my great loves, he is absolutely human,
and when he turns to dip me
or I step on his foot because we are both leading,
I know that one of us will die first and the other will suffer.
The slow dance of what’s to come
and the slow dance of insomnia
pouring across the floor like bath water.
When the woman I’m sleeping with
stands naked in the bathroom,
brushing her teeth, the slow dance of ritual is being spit
into the sink. There is no one to save us
because there is no need to be saved.
I’ve hurt you. I’ve loved you. I’ve mowed
the front yard. When the stranger wearing a shear white dress
covered in a million beads
comes toward me like an over-sexed chandelier suddenly come to life,
I take her hand in mine. I spin her out
and bring her in. This is the almond grove
in the dark slow dance.
It is what we should be doing right now. Scrapping
for joy. The haiku and honey. The orange and orangutang slow dance.
Slow Dance, Matthew Dickman (via seafeel)

(Source: seafeelsarchive, via comportare)

390 notes

with-grace-and-guts:

fadetogreymagazine:

Caroline de Maigret’s 20 Ways to be Parisian during fashion week
Paris is the city of love, light and classic fashion. Its women are envied the world over - they don’t need make-up, don’t get fat and certainly don’t care what you think. With Paris Fashion Week in full swing, we asked the super chic Caroline de Maigret to share her secrets. Ecoutez bien.
1. Complain that you can’t smoke inside the catwalk tent.
2. Wear sunglasses to show that you’re not bothered, but stop for every fashion blog photographer.
3. Don’t brush your hair for the whole week.
4. Eat at the Marly and pretend you went to the Louvre.
5. Eat at the Café de Flore to feel like you’ve been reading Jean-Paul Sartre all afternoon
6. Order wine at lunch.
7. Paint your nails yellow to feel eccentric.
8. Cross the street when you shouldn’t.
9. Pretend you’ve got something better to do than seeing a fashion show, but run to a computer to watch the shows live on nowfashion.com 
10. Spend half an hour in your bathroom to make your make-up look effortless.
11. Sleep with a braid so that everyone thinks you had sex all night.
12. Wear black because you’re too scared of making a faux pas.
13. Hide your hips in large pants so that everyone applauds your tomboy look. 
14. Leave a very trendy party and pretend you’re going to an even-more-exclusive party, when really you’re just going home to bed.
15. Spend Wednesday afternoon with your child and his schoolmates in Disneyland Paris.
16. Go to a show with camembert breath.
17. Miss a show but still have a strong opinion on it.
18. Be late and use the excuse that you’re just too busy. Unlike the ones waiting for you, obviously.
19. Cut all queues. After all, it’s your city. 
20. Be too busy to finish the i-D list.
Source: i-D magazine
Picture: Quentin De Briey


This lady; brilliant.

with-grace-and-guts:

fadetogreymagazine:

Caroline de Maigret’s 20 Ways to be Parisian during fashion week

Paris is the city of love, light and classic fashion. Its women are envied the world over - they don’t need make-up, don’t get fat and certainly don’t care what you think. With Paris Fashion Week in full swing, we asked the super chic Caroline de Maigret to share her secrets. Ecoutez bien.

1. Complain that you can’t smoke inside the catwalk tent.

2. Wear sunglasses to show that you’re not bothered, but stop for every fashion blog photographer.

3. Don’t brush your hair for the whole week.

4. Eat at the Marly and pretend you went to the Louvre.

5. Eat at the Café de Flore to feel like you’ve been reading Jean-Paul Sartre all afternoon

6. Order wine at lunch.

7. Paint your nails yellow to feel eccentric.

8. Cross the street when you shouldn’t.

9. Pretend you’ve got something better to do than seeing a fashion show, but run to a computer to watch the shows live on nowfashion.com 

10. Spend half an hour in your bathroom to make your make-up look effortless.

11. Sleep with a braid so that everyone thinks you had sex all night.

12. Wear black because you’re too scared of making a faux pas.

13. Hide your hips in large pants so that everyone applauds your tomboy look. 

14. Leave a very trendy party and pretend you’re going to an even-more-exclusive party, when really you’re just going home to bed.

15. Spend Wednesday afternoon with your child and his schoolmates in Disneyland Paris.

16. Go to a show with camembert breath.

17. Miss a show but still have a strong opinion on it.

18. Be late and use the excuse that you’re just too busy. Unlike the ones waiting for you, obviously.

19. Cut all queues. After all, it’s your city. 

20. Be too busy to finish the i-D list.

Source: i-D magazine

Picture: Quentin De Briey

This lady; brilliant.