January 2011
51 posts
“There’s nothing to mourn about death any more than there is to mourn about the...”
– Charles Bukowski (via foralskelse)
bluelunchbox asked: Thanks for the follow, I love your blog!! You may like my other art/design/photo one as well: http://psychodiagnostik.tumblr.com :)
This Is Just To Say
I have eaten the plums that were in the icebox and which you were probably saving for breakfast Forgive me they were delicious so sweet and so cold William Carlos Williams
“When I was a girl, my life was music that was always getting louder. Everything...”
– Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (via ultimateoutlaw)
Lines For The Fortune Cookies
I think you’re wonderful and so does everyone else. Just as Jackie Kennedy has a baby boy, so will you—even bigger. You will meet a tall beautiful blonde stranger, and you will not say hello. You will take a long trip and you will be very happy, though alone. You will marry the first person who tells you your eyes are like scrambled eggs. In the beginning there was YOU—there will...
tamburina:
One need not be a chamber to be haunted, One need not be a house.
Emily Dickinson
Flying Inside Your Own Body
Your lungs fill & spread themselves, wings of pink blood, and your bones empty themselves and become hollow. When you breathe in you’ll lift like a balloon and your heart is light too & huge, beating with pure joy, pure helium. The sun’s white winds blow through you, there’s nothing above you, you see the earth now as an oval jewel, radiant & seablue with love. It’s only in dreams you...
tamburina:
You’re sad because you’re sad. It’s psychic. It’s the age. It’s chemical. Go see a shrink or take a pill, or hug your sadness like an eyeless doll you need to sleep.
Margaret Atwood
“Experience is simply the name we give our mistakes.”
– Oscar Wilde
“How strange it is. We have these deep terrible lingering fears about ourselves...”
– Don DeLillo
hershelheat asked: I really enjoy your blog. =]
“If one isn’t crucified, like Christ, if one manages to survive, to go on...”
– Tropic of Capricorn
the black art
A woman who writes feels too much, those trances and portents! As if cycles and children and islands weren’t enough; as if mourners and gossips and vegetables were never enough. She thinks she can warn the stars. A writer is essentially a spy. Dear love, I am that girl. A man who writes knows too much, such spells and fetiches! As if erections and congresses and products weren’t...
“I found myself both moved and irritated by the discovery that she was...”
– Francoise Sagan, “Bonjour Tristesse” (via goosebumpsfitsandmalaria)
her kind
I have gone out, a possessed witch haunting the black air, braver at night; dreaming evil, I have done my hitch over the plain houses, light by light: lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind. A woman like that is not a woman, quite. I have been her kind. I have found the warm caves in the woods, filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves, closets, silks, innumerable goods; fixed the...
“I lost the plot for a while then. And I lost the subplot, the script, the...”
– High Fidelity
“To him she seemed so beautiful, so seductive, so different from ordinary people,...”
– Gabriel García Márquez Love in the Time of Cholera
liquidnight
(via ricp)