February 2012
55 posts
yeah, nothing like an unhealthy dose of self-loathing in the morning
1 tag
2 tags
“For she had come to feel that it was the only thing worth saying — what one...”
– Virginia Woolf, Mrs Dalloway (via billowy)
2 tags
“I was teaching you the difference between I miss you
and you are missing from...”
– Summer Robinson, excerpt from there you go again drinking the lake of fire (via holdonmagnolia)
4 tags
(26)
tell me about simplicity
like when you’re in your room
and it’s raining but
the sound is muffled
but you can feel it as you
close your eyes
feel it as you
taste the calm
under the covers
feel it as you
return untainted
from hazy oblivion
gutless oblivion
into the caress of
a better morning.
1 tag
“Thus we gather knowledge from those in whom we least believe, and unconsciously...”
– Par Lagerkvist, The Sibyl
3 tags
(25)
The worst are the ones who say, “I understand you,” and believe it. I love you but I fold deeper into myself each time you get it wrong.
4 tags
(24)
Take heed: you are about to open the proverbial can of worms, a can as wide and as profound as you will it to be, where hermaphrodites wait in bated breath for the first glimpse of sun (at which time they will leap into the air and get in your hair and eyes and soul and mind and they will multiply, but before which they will fester in the quiet, in the absence of undue reverence); such is...
3 tags
Diane: Nobody thought we’d do this. Nobody really thinks it will work, do they? Lloyd: No. You just described every success story.
1 tag
progress of my procrastination
tumblr
facebook
tumblr
shower
eat
read
tumblr
make a list of what i have to do
put the alarm at 3 a.m. so i’ll wake up and do my homework
sleep 2 hours after this
wake up at 3 a.m. too tired to do anything
sleep
wake up at 6
school
do homework right before class
sdfhkshdjf why do i do this to myself?
1 tag
“Socializing is as exhausting as giving blood. People assume we loners are...”
– Anneli Rufus (via katelizabeth)
3 tags
(23)
Faded words on a study booth in the library, written in blue: “Whoever you are, I love you and you are beautiful.”
I. Loneliness is heavy; her body sags with it, a dull ache, the edge of a blunt knife; she felt the scalding of hot disappointment again and again and reached for a pen.
II. Happiness is heavy but she doesn’t notice. Anchored to mankind; a steady...
3 tags
(22)
I wonder how much of me is imagined.
Am I stitched from unchanging prayer? Or the flighty tendrils of vain hope?
Perhaps I am cut from damp cloth, the daughter of ill luck.
I wait for the denouement.
I am
quick
silver.
4 tags
(21)
Somewhere along the way, I’d forgotten how to trace the distance between my understanding and yours. I’m dripping with tar, shielded from the cold only by the strangeness of purple evenings, while you, you flit from one treasure to another, regardless of where I am. Please. Wait for me by the foot of your pedestal. Please. Come down, come down.
(I wonder how much of me is...
3 tags
“Poetry takes all life as its province. Its primary concern is not with beauty, not with philosophical truth, not with persuasion, but with experience. Beauty and philosophical truths are aspects of experience, and the poet is often engaged with them. But poetry as a whole is concerned with all kinds of experience—beautiful or ugly, strange or common, noble or ignoble, actual or...
Despite the nostalgia we’ve been conditioned to feel for the past, society’s been flawed from the very start; it would be ridiculous to think otherwise.
1 tag
“The earth laughs in flowers.”
– E. E. Cummings (via human-voices)
3 tags
(20)
i’ve been wished from this earth, held captive in a ship painted red by the daughter of Sadness; she grins at me now, eyes swollen from a year of broken beginnings.
i etch questions on her neck and squeeze answers from her eyelids (never the ones i want) but in the end—
in the end, i find you in slumber, perpetrator, instigator, cradled between my sleeves.
and...
2 tags
Everything I’ve been writing these past few days leaks mediocrity and clichés.
A part of me is okay with it, hoping that if I write often enough I’ll just sludge through this, but another part of me knows that when I look back at at this stuff a while later I’ll want to delete it all in a blind rage.
Meeeh I’m in a dark place right now.
(Oh hi new followers. Please...
3 tags
(19)
twist my words
turn them into victims
of a bloodless massacre
(i trust you)
break down my walls
storm this fortress
(i trusted you)
destroy me
just as i wanted
your own personal vendetta
just as i destroyed you
and me
1 tag
been listening to Holocene for the past hour ugh why do I insist on perpetuating this dark mood
5 tags
(Fragments of me are spilling out. Quick, sweep them up, sweep them up.)
I. The thing you should know about me is that if I could I would be drunk all day. It makes loving easy. When the alcohol fans out across my chest and trickles upward towards the shyer parts of my brain, prickly and hot, the cogs stop; wheels run on their own accord, round the bend where my Foolish lives. Then I would feel...
2 tags
Why can’t I be the kind of depressed that is productive? Hemingway, Plath, Woolf, Van Gogh all were depressed and pushed out tons of genius work. Granted, they killed themselves, and I’m no brilliant author or artist, but all I do when I’m depressed is eat or cry or lie on my bed all day watching movies.
Ignore/forgive me I’m in a kind of half-daze.
1 tag
2 tags
3 tags
(18)
waking without memory:
i slip out of silk sheets, sand between my teeth, a laugh caught in the back of my throat. i find gems in drawers, knives lined inside cupboard doors, whiskey hidden beneath my pillows.
and they call me:
jealous thief, keeper of secrets, purveyor of lies but
i don’t remember, my memory frozen behind glass doors, mid-transaction.
3 tags
(17)
This sums up my relationship with my dad:
I’m five or six on my parents’ bed and I’m walking on his bare back. I’m asking him a question but he doesn’t respond, so I stop, crawl beside him, and whisper in his ear, “Daddy, are you there?” I see his chest rising and falling with each breath but he doesn’t respond. I shake him, call him, pinch...
Link - 20 Famous Last Words →
“Pardon me, sir. I did not do it on purpose.” - Queen Marie Antoinette after she accidentally stepped on the foot of her executioner as she went to the guillotine.
“LSD, 100 Micrograms I.M.” Aldous Huxley to his wife. She obliged and he was injected twice before his death.
1 tag
Werewolf - Cocorosie
First heard this song when...
3 tags
(16)
the water falls in curves. i wear it like a glove.
(let the heat fly silent. there is life yet in me.)
down, down, past birthmarks. down, down, past purposed scars. unshaved hair. stray eyelash. bruise marks. stretch marks. fleshy concavities—
i think too much. my feet are lobster-red.
apocalypsepoet:
it’s only while wandering
does the soul crave home
like good scotch,
we become as bitter
as the malt
and as empty
as it’s absence.
3 tags
(15)
I feel ants crawling
all
over
me
between
my toes
between
my eyes
between
the roots
of
my hair
(invisible)
they puncture my sanity.
Watching Pierrot le Fou and wishing I speak French.
1 tag
“You cannot stay on the summit forever; you have to come down again. So why...”
– René Daumal (via human voices)
1 tag
“Where is my clock?”
– Last words of Salvador Dali (via lastwordsof)
4 tags
(14)
i wait for the day i wake to find a pocket of a pulse pressed beneath my thumb.
by then i would have floundered— kissed the lips of failure stumbled ungallant into truth and joy and flightless courage—
and won.
1 tag
Pennyroyal Tea - Nirvana
(MTV Unplugged in New...