“You Scorpion Woman, You Have The Devil's Mouth

Моята дефиниция за самота е малко по-различна. Не сама, а сред хора усещам липса…

Между краката ти има нещо мое

Оазис който ме примамва

С приятните си на вкус сокове

и красивата си натуралност .

Бих отпил от младостта ти

за да видиш реалността ми

с искрен блясък в очите ,

и със страст в устните .

every time i make this world a little more bearable for those i love, my heart grows. every time they smile because of me,

laugh at me or with me,

tell me about their day,

cry to me about their deepest sorrows,

or tell me they love me, i remember.

to offer comfort, my heart beats on.

no matter what untold horrors the world and my own mind conspire to test me with next, that will not change.

this will not change my heart. (x)

“With such a hell in your heart and your head, how can you live? How can you love?”

— Fyodor Dostoyevsky, The Brothers Karamazov

Part of me liked part of you

just because there was nobody

to like you like that too.

-t.f.s.

“Ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn.In his house at R'lyeh dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.” H.P. Lovecraft, The Call of Cthulhu House of R'lyeh by Talon Abraxas

Tunes.

Wherever I see light,

my eyes drown in vain.

Audience swims

in my bloody stains.

Green palettes mixture

in the middle of forest trees,

silence repeats in tunes,

mind's a body killer.

-t.f.s.

Deadly virus.

In depths of evil,

fingers in the dirt pray

to welcome God's darkness,

to take us upper in the air.

Floating secrets hidden in minds,

mouths covered with mud

to grow a poison so good,

feel the tearing pleasure,

plague is coming to greet us.

-t.f.s.

hold on, my love, and i will hold onto you - n.l

“When we lose certain people, or when we are dispossessed from a place, or a community, we may simply feel that we are undergoing something temporary, that mourning will be over and some restoration of prior order will be achieved. But maybe when we undergo what we do, something about who we are is revealed, something that delineates the ties we have to others, that shows us that these ties constitute what we are, ties or bonds that compose us. It is not as if an “I” exists independently over here and then simply loses a “you” over there, especially if the attachment to “you” is part of what composes who “I” am. If I lose you, under these conditions, then I not only mourn the loss, but I become inscrutable to myself. Who “am” I, without you?”

— Judith Butler, Precarious Life