June 2013
24 posts
“Your life is not an episode of Skins. Things will never look quite as good as they do in a faded, sun-drenched Polaroid; your days are not an editorial from Lula. Your life is not a Sofia Coppola movie, or a Chuck Palahniuk novel, or a Charles Bukowski poem. Grace Coddington isn’t your creative director. Bon Iver and Joy Division don’t play softly in the background at appropriate moments. Your hysterical teenage diary isn’t a work of art. Your room probably isn’t Selby material. Your life isn’t a Tumblr screencap. Every word that comes out of your mouth will not be beautiful and poignant, infinitely quotable. Your pain will not be pretty. Crying till you vomit is always shit. You cannot romanticize hurt. Or sadness. Or loneliness. You will have homework, and hangovers and bad hair days. The train being late won’t lead to any fateful encounters, it will make you late. Sometimes your work will suck. Sometimes you will suck. Far too often, everything will suck - and not in a Wes Anderson kind of way. And there is no divine consolation - only the knowledge that we will hopefully experience the full spectrum - and that sometimes, just sometimes, life will feel like a Coppola film.”
—Letters From Nowhere (via pale-afternoon)
“It’s okay to lock yourself in the medicine cabinet, to drink all the wine, to do what it takes to stay, without staying. It’s okay to hate God today, to change his name to yours, to want to ruin all that ruined you. It’s okay to feel like only a photograph of yourself, to need a stranger to pull your hair and pin you down. It’s okay to want your mother as you lie alone in bed. It’s okay to break, to fuck, to flame, to church, to crush, to knife, to rock, and rock, and rock, and rock, and rock, and rock. It’s okay to wave goodbye to yourself in the mirror. To write, ‘I don’t want anything.’ It’s okay to despise what you have inherited, to feel dead in a city of pulses.”
—Rachel McKibbens, Letter From My Heart to My Brain (via hyperbolequeen)
“
You just found me in the wrong universe. That’s all. This is, as they say, the darkest timeline. Everywhere else, nay, “everywhen” else— us in the Civil War, us in Ancient Egypt, us in the swinging ’60s— we are happy.
Because you could have loved me forever. And maybe in another universe, I let you.
” —Thought Catalog, Maybe In Another Universe, I Deserve You’ (via theappleppielifestyle)Prose Piece
It’s been months since I’ve written anything, let alone prose, so this is an excerpt from a short story I did. Wooh.
“1 AM.
I am afraid to write anything down these days -to document the changing wind of my life lest it become permanent.
To miss a person I am standing beside.
To love what is absent.
To be alone in a snow-globe with beautiful weather.” —Jon Sands —-Last Night (via breakfastatbequiettiffany)
I am afraid to write anything down these days -to document the changing wind of my life lest it become permanent.
To miss a person I am standing beside.
To love what is absent.
To be alone in a snow-globe with beautiful weather.” —Jon Sands —-Last Night (via breakfastatbequiettiffany)
“Woe to you, teachers of the law and Pharisees, you hypocrites! You are like whitewashed tombs, which look beautiful on the outside but on the inside are full of the bones of the dead and everything unclean.”
—
Matthew 23:27
capitalism ¬‿¬
(via gowns)
Sweet agonizing pain
I need this feeling of unwantedness,
I need this feeling of worthlessness,
I need this feeling of abandonment,
and I need to feel this loneliness.Because without it,
my poetry would be even less pretty then it already is.So instead of hating you,
I want to thank you.Thank you, for breaking me.
There was not the beauty of fiction,
nor the danger of adventure.
Just life, and how mediocre that is.
“The river will accept what it is given,
even your body and everything you’ve done to it.” —Traci Brimhall and Brynn Saito, from “River” (via peachieangie)
even your body and everything you’ve done to it.” —Traci Brimhall and Brynn Saito, from “River” (via peachieangie)
“I crush her against me. I want to be part of her. Not just inside her but all around her. I want our rib cages to crack open and our hearts to migrate and merge. I want our cells to braid together like living thread.”
—Isaac Marion, Warm Bodies (via perfect)
