January 2012
51 posts
1 tag
I am cold.
(Sometimes I am unsure, or maybe just unaware, of the fact that there is a head on these shoulders that could and perhaps should be spending its time thinking thoughts, and I feel and that is all. It’s always weird when I catch myself doing it, when I realize how disembodied and abnormal my thought processes are).
“Love is blind, they say; sex is impervious to reason and mocks the power of all philosophers. But, in fact, a person’s sexual choice is the result and sum of their fundamental convictions. Tell me what a person finds sexually attractive and I will tell you their entire philosophy of life. Show me the person they sleep with and I will tell you their valuation of themselves. No matter what...
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I could give lessons in disappearance, how to watch as your body sinks beneath cold sheets and warms them, and you wake to that hellish alarm’s cry, and it can make your skin crawl at any time of day. And you shut it off with a fist and you watch through the gaps in your blinds as the sky outside grows pockmarked with light pastels, and it is morning and you simply do nothing about it, and I...
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“What they don’t understand about birthdays and what they never tell you is that...”
– Sandra Cisneros
God, I am so full of shit.
miinnamoravo asked: hi i want you to know that i love your writing and absolutely cannot wait to read more. also (and i'm sure you get this all the time) you write extremely well for someone of your age (not that i'm much older) and i'm impressed. this might mean nothing to you but i just wanted you to know it means something to me. have an excellent evening.
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“The paramedics took Cecilia to Bon Secours Hospital on Kercheval and Maumee. In...”
– Jeffrey Eugenides, The Virgin Suicides
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It was the summer of the rattling screen door, the dawn of my pubescence, when my baby hairs would curl ever so slightly at the nape of neck, and the neighborhood boys taught me to stop believing in gravity. Back then, it was like time didn’t exist, or matter; I don’t think I looked at so much as a watch that whole boiling summer. All of us had almost synchronized internal clocks,...
thewalnutletters:
I want to be okay hands singing in your pockets kind of okay
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“Whatever you do will be insignificant, but it is very important that you do it.”
– Mahatma Gandhi
My only real skills involve napping and making breakfast at all hours of the day and night. (Currently eating waffles and eggs).
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“In the Aeroplane over the Sea” by...
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We are alive, and it is very nice and extraordinary, and I agree with what my teacher said, about being a person with a soul, and how ‘once you are free, you must teach others to be, as well.’ I don’t see how the public school system celebrates or actualizes that, but I agree with it all the same. First, you must reach the feeling and then you must spread it.
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The other girls from the studio invite her out for pizza one night. She is surprised, and perhaps this is why she goes.
If she was asked to describe herself, she would say, (fidgeting, most likely, over her words and empty hands) ‘atypical.’ She is not like other people. Not even other girls from the studio, even. She would not say ‘unique’ because unique is a nasty and...
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“Be in love with your life. Every detail of it.”
– Jack Kerouac
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Sometimes I feel like everything would be better, or at least okay, if I had someone I could really talk to. Like really, no bars, no pretenses, not in any wayshapeform. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just feeling like this because I haven’t been writing much. But maybe not. I’m just going to keep looking for this person. If they exist, even. Someone to unclog me, a bit, because...
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I’m trying to wake up, get used to the daylight, trying to escape this cold inner terrain that can so often seem endless. I can tell myself so many things, and many of them aren’t true, but I can’t stop from telling them. It’s cyclic, and it’s constant. (And I can’t wake up, no matter how hard I try).
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“My question - that which at the age of fifty brought me to the verge of suicide...”
– Leo Tolstoy in A Confession (1882)
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Letter at the end of The Fault in Our Stars
Van Houten,
I’m a good person but a shitty writer. You’re a shitty person but a good writer. We’d make a good team. I don’t want to ask you any favors, but if you have time—and from what I saw, you have plenty—I was wondering if you could write a eulogy for Hazel. I’ve got notes and everything, but if you could...
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I’ve disappeared into this emotional black hole.
Sorry I haven’t been sending postcards.
“For months, I couldn’t write. It was the loveliest vertigo, sort of like...”
– havoc by Kristy Bowen
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Loss sits flat on their faces. Cheekbones and jawbones, they’re melded together, and I don’t know, there’s something in them that’s sad. (Did you know that when you die your face almost melts? It’s the first to go because of the maggots like the empty eye sockets and the tongue best, and the brain decays easily). But anyway, you can tell when people are sad, even when...
I’ve been awake for twenty-three hours and also my laptop is still broken.
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“You can bind my body, tie my hands, govern my actions: you are the strongest,...”
– George Sand (aka Lucile Aurore Dupin)
4 tags
Sometimes I wish I was a boy. It kind of feels like a betrayal to say that, but it’s true. Being a girl is fucking hard, even excluding all the cosmetic bullshit. It’s innate stuff. Little things. Nobody takes you quite as seriously, thinks you’re quite as smart or funny or hardworking or engaging. Believe me, I know the strides the women’s rights movement has made in these...
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(‘I know how furiously your heart is beating…’)
She doesn’t go after the things she wants, just sort of lets them hang there, watches from afar. She takes satisfaction in her control, in her composure, knowing that all of her life is happening on her own terms because she consciously chooses not to happen at all.
clavicola:
When I was twelve years old I was in love with a boy who I wrote had “lightning in his eyes.” Things were so different when we still had playgrounds to lean on instead of empty bottles. The first time I got drunk was at a stranger’s home in Manhattan. I still remember walking down thirty-seven flights of stairs and walking into a house party where everyone looked exactly the same. I was...
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There was a restlessness in suburbia that she hated. All the people with their Starbucks lattes and lawnmowers, and then never seeming happy, anyhow. The circular escape, discontent manifesting itself as accepted discontent, the way your hard teenage bones are suddenly soft and sprawled against a different white couch with a crackling plastic cover. The silent cry, Get out your pruning shears,...
“Whatever women do they must do twice as well as men to be thought half as good....”
– Charlotte Whitton
What is happening to me? I think I have been swallowed by a whale, which is wondering after its new sense of stomach-level sadness. I’m staring at is tonsils, trying not to sink into mindlessness but it’s so easy easy easy….I have a question to ask you, and promise you won’t half-nod or brush me off quietly. Do you know of a pain that is no pain? A creature that wraps you...
“Not a Pretty Girl” by Ani Difranco
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Too exhausted to exist—deep dead winter does this to me, my passion flakes off like dry skin and my heart is frostbitten.
It’s not so much writer’s block for me as it is pure laziness…(and wanting to read rather than write, I wish I could be a reader for a living; it’s a much calmer, relieving occupation, isn’t it? Compared to writing).
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“I realised something important: whatever is on the outside can be taken away at...”
– Jeanette Winterson, Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?
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new year & i wish to say that i will change &c. but truthfully, even if i want to live a different life (and i do i do i do) this is the only life i’ve ever known, this is the only person i’ve ever been, & i don’t expect much to change in one year. i will probably be sitting in this same chair typing something out a year from now. because people stay the same, even if...
