Empyrean01 - Empyrean🍒

if you're a student at all, please take care of yourself. you don't need to compete with your classmates for who slept the least or who drank the most coffee. eat breakfast and go to sleep a little earlier. lay off studying for a night and do something nice for yourself. your body and brain will thank you.

What I feel for you can’t be conveyed in phrasal combinations; It either screams out loud or stays painfully silent but I promise — it beats words. It beats worlds. I promise.

Katherine Mansfield (via quotemadness)

This is secret code used by 19th-century diarist Anne Lister to record her lesbian relationships! And underneath, and sample of her diaries. Anne wrote 6600 pages, or almost 4 million words of these diaries, giving us a treasure trove of information about her life, and one of the only first-hand accounts we have of female same-sex relationships in the 19th century.

Now you too can communicate with your friends in secret lesbian code!

To learn more about Anne, check out our episode and follow-up Christmas special!

✨Walk on the Starline ✨gifs made by me :)

I listened to Bukowski this morning, and I realized my writing is not raw enough, angry enough, drunk enough; I even drink red wine instead of cheap beer. I detest cigarettes, never served in war, or roamed the streets looking to settle on the bed of some dude’s crude floor. I’m too feminine, too much an inherent believer in the quality of people. My heart is adversely set against his heretical ways. I’ve never been stabbed in the back by love, or if I have, I pulled the prick out years ago, and time and forgiveness have sealed the scar over. I might have even forgotten where the wounds are buried. I never carved mistakes out of people, stole time in self destruction, stared into the holes of another’s deceit. I’m not modern enough to be a true angst-filled American poet. I don’t possess the tongue to squeeze lemon over my open lesions letting them ooze into a glass I pour out as charity for the masses. Come, let me sacrifice hopelessness for the voyeurs. No, I only know to write of the way his lips taste the soft worlds within my seascape, the slant of patchwork light filtering through the hallway window, jewel-toned shells that satiate my harlequin heart. I only know of simple subjects; I’ve somehow been denied the stench or overlooked the cracked places harboring broken bottles and blood-stained lips. Does that make me any less a poet, I wonder.

upon reading Bukowski//

Rhapsodyinblue45

4.8.18

I caught a glimpse of her dark soul and a taste of her poisoned lips ever since then, my soul has been mourning her absence and crying for more

my dark and lone mind

"I have a deeply hidden and inarticulate desire for something beyond the daily life." -Virginia Woolf.