Philip Jones Griffiths
I can well understand why children love sand.
Like mother like son.
I feel like a kid in a candy shop!
|—||My son, in a candy shop, displaying the first tragic symptoms of dissociative identity disorder (via yourmonkeycalled)|
I didn’t have much desire for company. Things didn’t matter one way or another. There was the horrible music, the beautiful weather. Occasionally I thought about Coney Island, or renting a movie. I paged slowly through books left lying around. The question was always why, the answer was always why not. And then, if I made it out for a few hours in the evening, she’d meet me in Manhattan, right in the park trapped between the gleam of Barnes and Noble and Whole Foods. We’d have the most amazing conversations while watching the kids dance in the square. They pretended like they were joking, like it didn’t matter. Then, left arm out, right arm out, a short hop on one foot, land on the other, lean all the way back, then quickly jog in a circle as if you were a ballerina imitating a helicopter.
|—||Stephen Elliott, The Daily Rumpus 4/27/12 (via leopoldgursky)|