In the mid-1700s, the 5th of November was one of Boston’s most popular holidays. On that day, apprentices and young men paraded through town with giant effigies of the Devil, the Pope, and current political scapegoats, demanding coins from householders and passersby.
At nightfall, Boston’s North End and South End gangs met in the middle of town and brawled. The winners hauled away the other side’s paraphernalia and burned all the effigies in a festive bonfire.
(via The Bostonian Society)
Here, here Boston.
perpetually confused
wanting to run forward
or turn back
without a contentment
for what is.
gpoyw-nom on the planet edition.
I felt so many things.
His face buried in my neck—
that warmth;
my lips
pressed against the back
of his hand.
The stillness in the inches
between his voice
and my own.
My soul
drinking his words
like red wine, savoring
each dizzy drop.
I want to beg of you much as I can to be patient
toward all that’s unsolved in your heart,
and learn to love the questions themselves,
like locked rooms, or like books that are
written in a very foreign tongue.
Do not seek the answers, which cannot be given you,
because you would not be able to live them,
and the point is to live everything.
Live the question now,
perhaps you will then, gradually, without noticing it,
live along some distant day into the answer.
The Sanderson Sisters.
