beautiful women will be like “i baked a cake” and you will say “oh ? what flavour is it” and they say well its a honey rosewater apricot pistachio cardamom vanilla fig jam earl grey poppyseed orange blossom extra virgin olive oil chiffon sponge soaked in raspberry elderflower champagne lipgloss pomegranate matcha ginger blueberry cherry blossom magnolia petal almond passionfruit persimmon syrup with whipped amalfi lemon limoncello ricotta goats cheese honeycomb black pepper bergamot lemon thyme lemon balm rosemary chantilly whipped cream cream cheese feta cheese italian meringue frosting . like ok. i want to spend the rest of my afternoons walking around inside your beautiful mind like a garden
One thing I love about studying math is that when you ask any fellow student or prof why they went into math we all say it’s because we find it beautiful. It’s so diametrically opposed to the opinion that everyone else has about math that it feels like some kind of virus that infects you and makes you unable to study anything else
I know this sounds like the deranged ramblings of a senile old man but I swear it used to be possible to look up information on the internet
it’s a raven cycle summer, i say as i lay rotting under a tree in the scorching heat with a coca cola bottle
the romantic urge to love and be loved has nothing on the introvert urge to simply never leave the house or answer texts
i never realized how codependent my relationship with ao3 is until it went down
feeling like all your friends have much more fun with each other than with you
being relieved at accomplishments rather than feeling a sense of achievement
feeling like you're missing when you're alone, but when with other people all you want is to be alone
anytime you say a bit too much you feel like you've overshared and should literally keep shut all the time
anytime someone laughs you immediately assume its about you or directed at you
you hate being humiliated in even the tiniest way
The young woman that emerges is herself in flux, and appears, by turns and at once, petulant, defiant, earnest, seething, self-sabotaging, fearful, isolated, longing. From time to time, and especially when discussing her cats or her writing, there are eruptions of elation, even ecstasy. She feels too much, doesn’t feel enough. She has a difficult time meeting people, she hates people. She loves her body, hates her body. She loves New York, hates New York. In one moment, she is completely convinced of the value of her writing; the next, it’s worthless. She craves authenticity while struggling to define what that even means. Above all, she is constantly questioning—what she thinks, what she does, what she writes and feels and remembers and desires. Even as the entries can feel hurried and harried, for Acker, writing seems to be a way to slow down her pain, to snatch at and examine it.
— Jason McBride, “Eat Your Mind: The Radical Life and Work of Kathy Acker“ (Simon & Schuster, November 29, 2022)
currently feeling very “and autumn comes when you’re not yet done with the summer passing by” send help
my roman empire is that i will never be able to experience a friendship as deep as the marauders had