#disreputablefrankiefrancesfranks

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

At two o’clock in the afternoon I get up and I make myself breakfast

Coffee from the French press

Chocolate chip pancakes, the egg whites folded in with all the tenderness I can muster

I eat them straight from the pan and burn myself on molten chocolate

I pour maple syrup in my coffee

At four o’clock in the afternoon it begins to snow

Blowing in a desperate sort of way above the river

I take leftover pancakes outside barefoot in my t-shirt and eat them cold and let the wind

bite at my fingers

[archiesweirdpodcast]

very much enjoyed the description of Brett and Jughead’s relationship as “reverse evil a separate peace” thank you all for your service

does not surprise me in the slightest that this has been said but where who said that?? genius sentiment from im guessing grace or leo. u are welcome 

[apelcini]

Every comment on that post is going straight to my “tumblr gentiles commenting on posts about antisemitism” cringe compilation, the curating of which is the only thing that makes being a Jew on this website bearable

oh my G-d please link me. goyishe clown compilation

[thejugheadparadox]

if jughead is sammy does that make archie tracy bacon because I kind of see it

oh yeah for sure that works archies like. what if tracy bacon was also jewish.. which obv doesnt rlly work in the k&c narrative but yk. nice man with mild unidentified darkness maybe involved w gang stuff as a kid has homoerotic banter and #chemistrywithmen. alternatively bret fits the blond gentile aspect of it but like nothing else. tbh sean depner could potentially kill that role if he had a slightly less like. odd face and i mean that as a compliment

[goosemixtapes]

31, 41, 59

31 - Still Clean by Soccer Mommy

41 - Rasputin by Bony M fucking TURN UP!!!

59 - Automatic System Habit by Garbage

[mimsyborogove]

Callout post for disreputablefrankiefrancesfranks

Is currently knitting despite almost being unable to finish an in-class essay today due to hand and wrist pain caused by...knitting too much

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

The dishwasher swishes and the dryer shakes the entire house and I’m

relatively sure that they can’t hear me crying

I am sorting my books

I cannot take them all.

Keep

giveaway

keep

giveaway giveaway

return to Zoey

give to Alex he’ll love it

Giveaway giveaway

I was reading this at Aunt Dori’s shiva keep

keep I have this one memorized giveaway

keep run my fingers along the spines crack open When My Name Was Keoko to the very end when Tae-yul comes back because he isn’t dead after all

and

every line

feels like a homecoming to a home that is no longer mine

and

I’m crying in the hallway

knees to my chest

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

I reach down to scratch an itch on my leg and my fingers come away sticky with blood My body is working so hard to repair me Painstakingly piecing together my skin And in a careless instant I tear it away again It has always been this way My arms are dotted with reminders of middle school mosquito bites Every cut from every fall I’ve ever had still marks my knees My mother fusses over my legs She slathers me in ointments and lotions and gauze Mutters darkly about infection But I am a scientist A stupid one, maybe A stupid scientist holding back tears in the shower when soapy water touches wounds that should be long healed A stupid scientist conducting a stupid experiment

An apocryphal Einstein would call it insanity Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result Still I wake up in the middle of the night and dig where the skin has barely closed over Just to make sure my blood still runs red

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

I am trying to think of a poem to say

In time to the faint snipping sound when I pluck the blossoms from the olive trees

I am trying to think of a poem to say to the sun and the desert wind and the purple shrubs and the silver sheen of olive leaves

A poem to say to the ibex tracks and the black beetles

and the dust colored dust covered lizards that race across my path

The poems that I know about beauty

Talk about how the cup holds the tea

and the drawing of blinds

and the thrill of rain.

There is no rain here.

Just the howl of wind

and the sounds of the soldiers practicing in their steel blue frames

gunshots echoing across the ancient hills

and the flowers fall into my hands and the olive’s bark is cool against my fingers and the summer sun burns the part in my hair and I am trying to think of a poem to say

[notesapppoetsuggestion]

Mourner's Prayer

It is 7:03 pm and it’s been dark for almost an hour And I’m sure that there’s some kind of rules about Kaddish and timing and sunset But I don’t know what they are And I’m saying Mourner’s Kaddish at a trailer park in Phoenix, Arizona Because I don’t know what else there is to do Yitgadal v’yitkadash sh’mei raba I pray Two thousand miles from home Under the light between lot 62 where an elderly woman explained to me in Spanish that her son worked nights and was not available but had already mailed in his ballot And lot 64 where no one was home uv'chayei d'khol beit yis'rael I’ve found east with my compass app But I turn my head towards the moon as I rock forward onto my toes and back again V’yit-hadar v’yit-haleh v’yit-halal My new sneakers move so easily Carry me smoothly from house to house With my clipboard of fliers and my list of polling places Walking is another way of praying I read that somewhere once toosh'b'chatah v'nechematah I am saying Kaddish at the trailer park and I am looking at the moon And I am thinking about my father’s face two years ago today Picking up the phone to ask Hannah Levin’s uncle The retired security guard to come to the synagogue the next day And bring his gun Oseh shalom bim'romav For a thousand years my family has said Kaddish in shtetls and in deserts In tenements and trailer parks aleinu v'al kol Yis'ra'eil v'im'ru And as I murmur Mourner’s Kaddish to the moon and the streetlight and the stray cats who wind their ways between the trailers I almost hear them say Amen

[apelcini]

I offer a small brass bird purchased at a rummage sale in the library basement, and the memory of the summertime robins that land in the tree by my kitchen window

your fortune: you’re always going to want to get away, at least a little bit. keep learning to cherish what’s around you, it becomes as natural as breathing.