Paradise, as people describe it, seems to me much too musical, and I confess in...– Théophile Gautier, Mademoiselle de Maupin (via proustitute)
A hope that wants naught but to fly And that simply refuses to die That under the enemy’s fire Pulls downfallen friends from the mire That in the distraught of their violence Will simply caress you in silence
Promise me you’ll always remember: you’re braver than you believe,...– Winnie the Pooh
El bello poema Las palabras maravillosas Los ohos que miran Enfrian y tiran Idioma prostetica Canta por mi!
thegreatpacific asked: chem girl
I’d heard of Proust, and I’d heard all these great things about him. I always thought to myself, whats the big deal? Well, I began reading Swann’s Way today. I was on the verge of tears after the first 5 pages. Quite a big deal indeed.
Thought I’d something more to say.
Hi Big, From the gifts I have been receiving, it appears that you read through my blog. Firstly, let me thank you for everything you have done and given me. I am quite beside myself with joy at the moment, as my binder was amazing. The soup you made for me was very delicious. Again, thank you :D Secondly, I am quite embarrassed. This is a place I use to vent sometimes, and I really thought no...
thoughts are crawling on my skin
You have wakened not out of sleep, but into a prior dream, and that dream lies...– Jorge Luis Borges (via cementandaluminum)
Omg there is the prettiest chick I have ever seen here at Starbucks. Like completely shattering my concept of beauty; like I have never seen true beauty until today. Wow. Every other girl I have ever liked now looks like a man compared to her. Wow. I never knew beauty like this could exist. She is like the sun, or the moon, or the sea; she embodies a genuine beauty, a beauty comparable to the...
I remembered you with my soul clenched in that sadness of mine that you know.– Pablo Neruda (via goodpoetry)
And I say to you someone will remember us in time to come– Sappho, fragment translated by A. S. Kline (via proustitute)
Yet no matter how deeply I go down into myself My God is dark, and like a...– Rainer Maria Rilke (via awritersruminations; syllablefingers)
He’s freed from his loneliness by the word. Isn’t that the point of poetry?...– Anna Kamienska (via fuckyeahpolishpoets)
I carry silence with me the way others carry snapshots of loved ones– Stephen Dunn, from “The Silence” (via ahuntersheart)
… we are only fiction. We are only the idea we have of ourselves.– Edmond Jabès, from Cut of Time (via proustitute)
I have nothing to say/ and I am saying it/ and that is poetry/ as I need it.– John Milton Cage Jr. (American composer, 1912 - 1992)
I weep Before the ethereal shimmer Of a dying poem
Dancing through this social normative inferno What a thought crime! Madly chewing through the feces! Violently defecating beauty! Don’t look away Why don’t you look away? The social normative redundancy Has rendered this language useless Nothing more can be said with English Time to look beyond the words
Love is the only narcotic that truly frightens me.
Finally picked up Absolution - Muse. Pretty epic album.
Love moves things, just like gravity. To be in love is to be in orbit; forever circling round the object of desire, but never arriving.
There be some fine ass honeyz in the oakes computer labs sometimes…
El mexicano El pinche mexicano Mira como lo odio Mira que berguensa le da En tener esa cara En ablar ese mendigo idioma
This is where she died… So come one, come all, young ones! With wide eyes and dreamy smiles Come tour the grand slaughterhouse! ‘Tis the ultimate salvation, I assure you! You need only forfeit your soul to enter… And as the superior dead white males take their sweet time Carefully, surgically sodomizing you As their values and standards Are brutally shoved down your...
Writing is like sex. First you do it for love, then you do it for your friends,...– Virginia Woolf (via fuckyeahcostumedrama)
Godamn that was a shitty poem xD. My apologies.
this shit i write to you what i thought but could not say the way i half fell in love with you from a gaze alone this shit i cant write to you no matter how i try i should have gone that extra inch or not gone in at all this shit that now will haunt my dreams this fucking sweetly curse to taste your smile was far too much the hope was far far worse
I was half in love with her by the time we sat down. That’s the thing...– J.D. Salinger
Watching Pink Floyd The Wall. Floors me every time.
We cling to words like drowning men to straws. But still we drown, we drown.– Anna Kamienska, from “In That Great River: A Notebook” (via lesmotsjustes)
I met someone today who listens to porcupine tree. Awesomeness.
I’m fucking broke and hungry
Is there anybody Out there?– Pink Floyd
…poetry is what he thought but did not say.– Heather McHugh (via proustitute)
…recite the list of what you’ve learned to do without. It is stronger than...– Stephen Dunn, from “Traveling” (adapted from yesyes)
Isn’t this where we came in?
Why bother talking about your problems? No one cares The best thing to do is to let them sit Slowly collecting Slowly gaining mass Until they collapse in on themselves Into a black hole Devouring everything Devouring you And thus, No more problems!
Every word I utter Is a new bar to my cage So that all I can ever aspire to Is creating a beautiful cage
They were lovely, your eyes, but you didn’t know where to look.– George Seferis (via proustitute)
Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.– Ernest Hemingway (via proustitute)
My shit keeps breaking My computer My phone My fucking heart The future has broken in two Like a turd Sinking in the mire My vision has a crack in the middle In which faces retort and implode Faces become Feces For that ‘a’ is brutally dismembered The concept of breaking erupts into a chasm And falling within And flowing throughout Like an incomplete orgasm So...
A poem, like trying to remember, is a movement of the whole body.– Rosemarie Waldrop, from “The Ambition of Ghosts: I. Remembering into Sleep” (via proustitute)
I woke up and I had a big idea To buy a new soul at the start of every year I...– Porcupine Tree
Happiness is the death of poets– Honoré de Balzac
Breaking my back To experience the exact form of suffering you fancy Weaving tears in the perfect pattern To earn a moment’s glance Dragged through the Mire Under the false pretense of salvation You are not the second coming Nor the first You waste my time With your romantic waste