You raved and you bitched when you came home about the stupidity of audiences....– J.D. Salinger, “Zooey”
So I went to the beach today and usually I guess that means scads of the under-clad All tan and languorous on their blankets like housecats in the sun Stupid and purposeless and happy about it (Sorry—you know how I get when I’m in one of my quotation-mark moods) But I didn’t go for the people, obviously (you’d find more interesting people amongst the sewage rats) I went to see the ocean Kind of...
westernwon: Sup, Douchebag. I am writing this in the tire tracks that lead off the highway on the road home from school- 40 miles in a 65. my dad thinks we’re gay now because we like to run and eat pizza together. I don’t think he understands that eating pizza is code for talking to cute girls who look like they’ll have good taste in music, and I don’t really care that he doesn’t like it,...
Left Alone by Fiona Apple
Writers are so dramatic.
Whenever I’m tired, I think of mermaids. In the light of my thick-backed T.V. My mind lingers, half-asleep, Dreaming of water clean and clear And wet hands braiding my hair. And whenever I’m tired, I want to be touched by everyone Except by those who want to Touch me; I am always disgusted By the people that love me. It’s horrible, And it takes a green-skinned Creature with gills and scales...
I’ll never understand people who avoid writing things anything that could be seen as disturbing and downright disgusting, irreverent and irrelevant. Sometimes you have to say the things that are supremely fucked up. You can’t just pick and choose with your thoughts—sometimes you’re going to think big, scary, grotesque thoughts, and you think those just as much as you think...
We do not grow absolutely, chronologically. We grow sometimes in one dimension,...– Anaïs Nin
All the stories sound the same, she thought, when you line them up. The slick businessman here only until Wednesday morning and the ratty-looking high school kid with the pubic hair beard—eerily similar. It was disorienting, at first. Her first thought had been: I don’t belong here. She still didn’t really, because she’d never spoken. There was nothing for her to say, you know? She felt pathetic,...
I always sleep off my problems and thoughts, like they’re just a bad hangover or something. And it kind of works. Mostly I just spend a lot of time sleeping.
lifeismymuse asked: I am absolutely in love with your writing!I write every once in a while, but it's nothing like yours <3 stay true x
There’s a disconnect. You have to walk the beaches of Goa barefoot, then climb...– Ariana Roberts, “To Swim Across the World”
I’m wondering if it’s possible for a girl ever to just be on her own Because I can think of plenty of old artist men holed up in shacks Breathing lead paint; but even the women that Seem to have entire plumes of feathers instead of hair Even they get married eventually, and most of them divorce only to remarry, And that’s how they’re free, that’s how they’re independent, Because they’re with...
Sometimes I think I could’ve been—was supposed to be— A child that died young. A martyr to no cause but a prolonged sense of despair And I would bring tears to other mothers’ eyes When they would think of me, and how I died, Crushed by a falling tree at Girl Scout camp Or in a hospital bed, with tubes in my nose. Sometimes I think all life is Is a series of bifurcations— You know, forks in the...
3rad5you asked: This blog is lovely, and I am overjoyed that I have found it. Thank you.
Person: So you like The Beatles huh?
Person: Can you say all their nam-
Me: I can say how each one lost their virginity.
Why do only older people and movie stars wear lipstick? It’s so sexy ugh
The Bed Song (Live) by Amanda Palmer
Birthday, for Jenn
by Andrea Gibson At 12 years old I started bleeding with the moon and beating up boys who dreamed of becoming astronauts. I fought with my knuckles white as stars, and left bruises the shape of Salem. There are things we know by heart, and things we don’t. At 13 my friend Jen tried to teach me how to blow rings of smoke. I’d watch the nicotine rising from her lips like halos, but I...
Someday I think we’ll be in a museum Not our art or our stories or The boots you’ll wear when you give that speech I know you’ve been Itching to say, Just our bodies. Our bones discolored by the dirt of a thousand years will sit inside a case With specially-designed air pressure (to prevent decay) And in death, as fossils, we’ll be important, We’ll be the breath of science The only signs of a past...
Maybe it would be better if we could all climb off our family trees Hit the dirt with two soles of our very own feet Or maybe the trees could grow out instead of up And all the branches of all the trees could touch And maybe then I’d feel together enough with everyone To have the courage to do what I want, alone An apple that had fallen straight out of the sky.
I’ve always loved the foods I keep stacked in my freezer In little towers of dry ice Round, crunchy waffles and low-fat fruit bars I’ll never eat Because there’s something to be said for preservation And you can shake your head and laugh at me Say nobody cares what I do with my 4-month-old hot dogs But I do And in the cold I know they’re safe And even though I’ll probably never want or need them,...
kingdomnada: everyone is so dumb and boring and pathetic and i am trapped, completely trapped, in a cage with seven billion forty eight million ninety three thousand six hundred fifty people and counting i hate it here
My eleventh grade English teacher was a guy named Paul MacAdam. I got a D in the...– John Green, excerpt from his 2008 speech at the Alan Conference
The morning, for those of us who don’t often see it, is odd— It represents an expectation that afternoons, nights, Even evenings, lack. I usually write late at night When the world is—at least on my street—temporarily Dead. It gives me this nice degree of jadedness And cynicism, lying there in the dark like the only person alive Finally able to hear to my brain because The rest of my house is...
All we’ve ever shared was a class together, one common textbook and a few...– Jameson Fitzpatrick, “Of Course the Moon is Full”
I cry at everything. (That’s good. I think?)
Maybe the dingo ate your baby.– Sylvia Plath
I looked at this photograph of her, one of those photographs that’s all discolored and wrong-looking in ways you can’t put your finger on, and she was wearing this striped mini skirt and you could see half her ass, I swear, and she also had this crazy lipstick on and her hair made her seem like she was straight out of a fucking roller rink where she’d just smoked a joint with a...
I want a soulmate who can sit me down, shut me up, tell me ten things I don’t...– Henry Rollins
I like how summer makes my brain completely empty and I don’t even notice, half the time—that I’m sitting here not even thinking, really, letting my teenage instincts rule and it’s nice, I’d forgotten how nice it is to just…not really be anything? Unformed, nebulous, a mind with all the windows open…
1. There were these two little old ladies, you remember, Who lived on the corner in the blue house. And none of the neighborhood girls were allowed to Ask them to buy Girl Scout cookies or Ring their doorbell on Halloween. 2. When you were supposed to go to the grocery store for your mother You stop at the pharmacy instead And you buy these medical-type scissors. And you stand staring in the...
I can’t believe I used to think I was an open person.
You have to pay attention to the people other people ignore. You just have to.– My eleven-year-old sister
ugly-feelings: sometimes i just want to get a fake orange spray tan and bleach my hair blonde and wear hollister and a&f and american eagle and uggs exclusively and wear frosted lipglosses and make ducklips faces and care about jersey shore and gossip girl. because apparently “nice” dudes hate when girls that because it’s “fake”, it’s “slutty”, it’s overdone/tasteless/”dumb” but fuck you....