Installer ce thème
unadoptable:

(via Rookie » All in My Mind) Series of illustrations I did for Rookie :)

unadoptable:

(via Rookie » All in My Mind)
Series of illustrations I did for Rookie :)

carabellasands:

“We are the cats inside. We are the cats who cannot walk alone, and for us there is only one place.” ― William S. Burroughs, The Cat Inside
Portrait of Luna Miguel:
Bringing Her Cat In For A Kiss Only To Realize Her Cat Is Her And She Is Pushing Herself Away
http://animalitoinexpresivo.tumblr.com

carabellasands:

“We are the cats inside. We are the cats who cannot walk alone, and for us there is only one place.” 
― William S. BurroughsThe Cat Inside

Portrait of Luna Miguel:

Bringing Her Cat In For A Kiss Only To Realize Her Cat Is Her And She Is Pushing Herself Away

http://animalitoinexpresivo.tumblr.com

just going to ‘bring’ this

iamaltlit:

the stuff from the past 3-4 wks abt alt lit has been rlly shocking for me b/c of this fact—i don’t know you, i only know you by yr names

naturally there’s a disconnect, b/c of the form, the medium

Read More

perros-romanticos:

Encuentro increíble… David Meza, Antonio J. Rodríguez, Luna Miguel y Ben Brooks por las calles de Barcelona. LOOOL   

perros-romanticos:

Encuentro increíble… David Meza, Antonio J. Rodríguez, Luna Miguel y Ben Brooks por las calles de Barcelona. LOOOL   

fuckyeahcatpaintings:

Katzenkonzert David Teniers

fuckyeahcatpaintings:

Katzenkonzert David Teniers

sterility:

be my little bug2014

sterility:

be my little bug
2014

electric-cereal:

Luna Miguel has new stuff out!
The first is in Powder Keg translated by Kimi Traube. It’s from La tumba del marinero (The Sailor’s Grave) and I only recently found out that the title is a Pynchon reference. Check it, first page of V.

My mother is a classical woman trapped in this classical world. My mother is patient and affectionate; she likes to cuddle me. My mother and I kiss each other on the mouth when we embrace. My Phoenician mother tried to describe Homer’s rosy-fingered dawn to me, tried to explain his metaphors and since then I haven’t known how to invent a single one. Maybe because I already learned them all years ago. Maybe because they all remind me of her. My mother didn’t read The Iliad to me, she read The Odyssey. How could I read you The Iliad, Luna? she’d say to me. It’s too bloody a book for a little girl! Too bloody? Too bloody?  Blood is the nectar of poets. All blood is worthy of a poem. All that menstruates is worthy of a poem. Too much blood for a girl who’s four or five or a hundred years old.

The second piece is in Buenos Aires Review translated by Julia Ostmann. A lit mag I like a lot but I don’t check often enough. I’m not sure where this piece is from. Maybe from Los estómagos (The Stomachs) or it could be completely new.

I can invent a lullaby for deaf children, the only thing missing is a voice, the only thing missing is a long neck where we can resound. I can say that we are scared. I can say that hunger is an invention of our teeth so they don’t feel so alone. I can write the word cancer a thousand times, because cancer reproduces a thousand times. It is a relentless killer, and I am also a relentless killer, and I swear I will get my revenge. I can dream I’m kissing a made-up poet. I can dream I’m a drop of acid rain. I can use up all my Candy Crush lives until I finally feel that I have died. That I have died in the magical world of the candies. I can leave the gas on. I can light all the candles. I can invite domestic catastrophes, cut off my finger, or cut off my nipple, or cut off a single hair and afterward eat up all my remains.

electric-cereal:

Luna Miguel has new stuff out!

The first is in Powder Keg translated by Kimi Traube. It’s from La tumba del marinero (The Sailor’s Grave) and I only recently found out that the title is a Pynchon reference. Check it, first page of V.

My mother is a classical woman trapped in this classical world. My mother is patient and affectionate; she likes to cuddle me. My mother and I kiss each other on the mouth when we embrace. My Phoenician mother tried to describe Homer’s rosy-fingered dawn to me, tried to explain his metaphors and since then I haven’t known how to invent a single one. Maybe because I already learned them all years ago. Maybe because they all remind me of her. My mother didn’t read The Iliad to me, she read The Odyssey. How could I read you The Iliad, Luna? she’d say to me. It’s too bloody a book for a little girl! Too bloody? Too bloody?  Blood is the nectar of poets. All blood is worthy of a poem. All that menstruates is worthy of a poem. Too much blood for a girl who’s four or five or a hundred years old.

The second piece is in Buenos Aires Review translated by Julia Ostmann. A lit mag I like a lot but I don’t check often enough. I’m not sure where this piece is from. Maybe from Los estómagos (The Stomachs) or it could be completely new.

I can invent a lullaby for deaf children, the only thing missing is a voice, the only thing missing is a long neck where we can resound.
I can say that we are scared.
I can say that hunger is an invention of our teeth so they don’t feel so alone.
I can write the word cancer a thousand times, because cancer reproduces a thousand times. It is a relentless killer, and I am also a relentless killer, and I swear I will get my revenge.
I can dream I’m kissing a made-up poet.
I can dream I’m a drop of acid rain.
I can use up all my Candy Crush lives until I finally feel that I have died. That I have died in the magical world of the candies.
I can leave the gas on.
I can light all the candles.
I can invite domestic catastrophes, cut off my finger, or cut off my nipple, or cut off a single hair and afterward eat up all my remains.

New poem “You had glitter on your fingers” at The Buenos Aires Review
English version: 
http://www.buenosairesreview.org/2014/09/luna-miguel-2/

*
Nuevo poema “Tenías purpurina en los dedos” en The Buenos Aires Review.
Versión en español: 
http://www.buenosairesreview.org/es/2014/09/luna-miguel/

Gracias a Pola Oloixarac y a Fernando Montes

New poem “You had glitter on your fingers” at The Buenos Aires Review

English version: 

http://www.buenosairesreview.org/2014/09/luna-miguel-2/

*

Nuevo poema “Tenías purpurina en los dedos” en The Buenos Aires Review.

Versión en español: 

http://www.buenosairesreview.org/es/2014/09/luna-miguel/

Gracias a Pola Oloixarac y a Fernando Montes