Dear Réné and Phuong,

I have asked permission to dedicate this book to you not only in memory of the happy evenings I have spent with you in Saigon over the last five years, but also because I have quite shamelessly borrowed the location of your flat to house on the my characters, and your name, Phuong, for the convenience of readers because it is simple, beautiful and easy to pronounce, which is not true of all your country-women’s names. You will both realize I have borrowed little else, certainly not the characters of anyone in Viet Nam. Pyle, Granger, Fowler, Vigot, Joe—these have had no originals in the life of Saigon or Hanoi, and General Thé is dead: shot in the back, so they say. Even the historical events have been in at least one case rearranged. For example, the big bomb near the Continental preceded and did not follow the bicycle bombs. I have no scruples about such small changes. This is a story and not a piece of history, and I hope that as a story about a few imaginary characters it will pass for both of you one hot Saigon evening.

Yours affectionately,

Graham Greene

  April 21, 2014 at 04:43pm


London, 1981.

(via advicefromparadise)


パンク | Punk

It really is okay after all; you watch her walk out of the jungle in a white dress that goes to her knees and no further. Her arms are full of fruit. Peaches and peaches and peaches. Grapefruit. Lemons from the grove. Someone left a ladder for you and for her and for anyone else who will come along to make their arms and pockets laden. Your son is somewhere with other children. Imagine! Probably a game of tag in the cow pasture. You thought it would never be the same, but it is better. A world of dust and highways with spring rain and warm winds translated into rivers and trees. Do you see how the myth is coming round again? A vast loop-de-loop around the cosmos, and now the course is straight, you have emerged from your tomb, hit the surface of the water, so breathe deep and smile at your woman. All here are young and good and kind. She looks so beautiful in white, just like your wedding day. A bunch of flowers in her hand.

  April 18, 2014 at 10:21pm

your voice is four bells
your mouth is a golden key
come into my house

  April 11, 2014 at 10:04pm

My first love
was some insignificant boy
when it should have been

Michelle K., First Love. (via michellekpoems)

(via tierradentro)


Andrew’s cookies (for those of you suffering Stendhal’s Sydrome)


Janie Taylor NYCB and her hair!

(via ithinkiwasherebefore)

  April 07, 2014 at 07:20pm
via 8kd

cyclothymia and nearing the end of the semester

thunderous heart
pass brick building a quick-stepped March;
terrible blue sky

  April 06, 2014 at 01:43am

reasons why I hang out with people

  • bc I’m coerced into it (3%)
  • bc they have a car (6%)
  • bc my hair looks cute (91%)
#moi  #cute  
  March 21, 2014 at 11:26pm