February 2012
13 posts
RECIPE FOR AMNESIA | Nin Andrews →
Of every priest, guru, nun and rishi, of every therapist, lama, swami, and saint. Of every drug addict and several strangers on the street, I’ve asked for teachings on forgetfulness, transmissions, rituals for purification, drugs and whiskey, any form of magic for erasing your voice from my mind, your image from my days and nights, your scent of salt and lemons and warm summer rain like a tiny...
“Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.”
– David Foster Wallace
“They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered”
– F. Scott Fitzgerald
“Every day I discover more and more beautiful things. It’s enough to drive one...”
– Claude Monet (via suzywire)
January 2012
18 posts
i don’t want the sunspots anymore. i want the vicious: the tongue and its relentless prodding the hands, the groping. i have dreamt of the ripping, of the smoke that stains my taste buds. i watched the smile and the arch of your spine. i have wanted nothing more than to pull that carnivorous animal your clenched teeth exposed you as into the light. let my fingertips bring out the rising god...
“She wished she had a little yellow house of her own, with a flower box full of...”
– Francesca Lia Block (via homeward-thesewolves)
“I was the shyest human ever invented, but I had a lion inside me that wouldn’t...”
– Ingrid Bergman (via feedforthefire, ladyslane, jadorelavie)
“Your first time out of the country
of your own skin, I didn’t bring a map.
...”
– Heather Sommer, Traveler (via grammatolatry)
“The important things are learned in faces, in gestures, not in our locked...”
– Jeanette Winterson
THIS SLOW RISE | Monica Berlin →
What does any of this matter on nights so hot we can’t sleep, somewhere else the rivers spilling banks, pouring in, and somewhere else still, drought spreading out the once rich land into a layer of silt. What does it matter these nights, our backyards of trains, our turning to dust, even as we’re more saturated than we’ve ever been? We’re tracing routes of the maps hung above our beds, not...
Because I’ll Never Swim in Every Ocean - Catherine... →
Want is ten thousand blue feathers falling all around me, and me unable to stomach that I might catch five but never ten thousand. So I drop my hands to my sides and wait to be buried. I open a book and the words spring and taunt. Flashes—motel, lapidary, piranha—of every story, every poem I’ll never know well enough to conjure in sleep. What’s the point of words if I can’t own them all? I...
“I want your absolute attention,
your underwear rolled down in a hurry
still...”
– Leonard Cohen, from Book of Longing (via debaucherie)
“Her heart was heavy because it was open, and so things filled it, and so things...”
– Mr. Fox, Helen O (via dondante)
“There is nothing wrong with loving the crap out of everything. Negative people...”
– Ryan Adams (via amandacelesteee)
December 2011
19 posts
waldosia
delawareareyou:
n. [Brit. wallesia] a condition characterized by scanning faces in a crowd looking for a specific person who would have no reason to be there, which is your brain’s way of checking to see whether they’re still in your life, subconsciously patting its emotional pockets before it leaves for the day.
