Latest Posts by illusioningin - Page 2

Charles Bukowski, You Get So Alone at Times That it Just Makes Sense /Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet/Franz Kafka, Letters to Felice‎

one day you think: I want to die. and then you think, very quietly: actually. actually. I think I want a coffee. a nap. a sandwich. a book. and I want to die turns day by day into want to go home, I want to walk in the woods, I want to see my friend, I want to sit in the sun, I want a cleaner kitchen, I want a better job, I want to live somewhere else. I want to live.

- via duckbunny

glass, irony and good, anne carson // margaret atwood // enough, suzanne buffam // ? // in conversation: kathleen turner, david marchese // haunted womanhood, heather havrilesky // where to begin, sue zhao // the stream of life, clarice lisepector

Aimee Nezhukumatathil, from “Baked Goods”, Lucky Fish (published in 2011)

i pick at memories like scabs on juvenile knees

and i bleed when i could be change,

but i am both the bird and the tarnished cage.

i think some people are steel-toe boots and some of them are sidewalks;

some people live and learn the names of humans, of streets just to run away,

and some of them are cities forged and born to always stay.

and if life is a tree, i have to say, some days i want to leave,

but i think my birthmark is a footprint, and i'm bona fide concrete.

— concrete // melancholy galaxies (t.e.t.)

“𝐼'𝑚 𝑎𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑙𝑜𝑡 𝑜𝑓 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡𝑙𝑦, 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑐𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑦, 𝐼 𝑎𝑚 𝑎𝑓𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑏𝑒𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑦 𝑢𝑛𝑟𝑎𝑣𝑒𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒.”

—L.M. Dorsey, She Is Made of Chalk

“He had forgotten how big things could feel, how crowded with life, how beautiful it could be to know the season, the month, the hour, to simply say, It is winter.”

- Leigh Bardugo, Hell Bent

“When a million things can bring you down, find one reason to keep you up.”

— Unkown

I do not know many things, my love

but I know — for you

even my hate will be soft.

I’ll be writing poems about you until I die.

Come here, memory of him.

Tiffany McDaniel, from 'The Summer That Melted Everything'

lets all stop being suicidal and create life 2 where its good and everybody loves you

“You still crave lemonade, but the taste doesn’t satisfy you as much as it used to. You still crave summer, but sometimes you mean summer, five years ago.”

— Alida Nugent

“Summer arrives in a strawberry, sweet, juicy. As long as you feel its flesh on your tongue you’re unaware how. One minute inches into the next. But how could you observe awareness anyway? Or, for that matter, a thought? It grows in you, not as a sensation. (Nor like a baby or tumor.) An experience that you can’t hold on to. Any more than to the smell of lilac. Though it soothes emptiness.”

— Rosmarie Waldrop, from “Asymmetry (2)”, The Nick of Time: Poems

“learned a lot. in the end though, i kind of screwed it up."

"i called over there for a reference, left word with some snooty girl. next thing you know, i got a fax from miranda priestly herself... saying that of all the assistants she's ever had... you were, by far, her biggest disappointment. and, if i don't hire you, i am an idiot. you must have done something right." | the devil wears prada (2006)

joining the war on “pretentiousness” on the side of the pretentious

and I don’t want the world to see me ‘cause I don’t think that they’d understand when everything’s made to be broken I just want you to know who I am

There must be another life, she thought, sinking back into her chair, exasperated. Not in dreams; but here and now, in this room, with living people. She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice with her hair blown back; she was about to grasp something that just evaded her. There must be another life, here and now, she repeated. This is too short, too broken. We know nothing, even about ourselves.

Virginia Woolf, the years

"Have you ever had that feeling—that you'd like to go to a whole different place and become a whole different self?"

imagine the picture of dorian gray (1891) but dorian is jude law in wilde (1997) and lord henry is hugh grant in maurice (1987)

my heart is a ripe fruit rotting in my chest

Trace Evidence, Charif Shanahan

Promises of Gold, José Olivarez

What would you be if there were no one who constrained your living space and time?