"I learned how to drink champagne a while ago. But the way I like to drink champagne is I like to make what we call a Montana Cooler, where you buy a case of champagne and you take all the bottles out, and you take all the cardboard out, and you put a garbage bag inside of it, then you put all…
Just because she is no longer a part of my life doesn’t mean that she is not here with me anymore. She is inside of my every move, every word, and every feeling. Even though she is gone, she will never really disintegrate from my mind.
“When a memory comes alive, it becomes fluent. It speaks to you in tongues you never thought that existed. Accuracy ceases to matter and the sublimity of your most naked experiences echoes through every cell of your body. When a memory comes alive, it becomes mythical and transparent; it pierces your veins with colours, smells and that particularly rhythmical sensation of constant movement. Impeccable in its palliating formlessness, it perhaps screams or whispers. And if you have the capacity to hear, the wholeness of what a memory consists of, stays with you. It nestles in that very exclusive and deeply private spot of your heart and it allows you to fondle it from within. Or it leaves you broken, it dismantles your ego and crushes your selfhood. It leaves you thinking that all truth is dark ; you start questioning why you still can’t shake it off your head, it swallows the sum of your parts one by one with alarming impatience, it does not quite forgive your softness. It devours. It exhausts the fuck out of your system. It feels so unimaginably real that, somehow, it becomes you. And whether its intensity outlives you or not, it’s still passionately persistent and affecting your own little “reality” show. When a memory comes alive – you are.”—All These Things You Wish You’d Say (via violentwavesofemotion)
“There is no need for you to leave the house. Stay at your table and listen. Don’t even listen, just wait. Don’t even wait, be completely quiet and alone. The world will offer itself to you to be unmasked; it can’t do otherwise; in raptures it will writhe before you.”—Franz Kafka, Aphorisms (via larmoyante)
“You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.”—Frida Kahlo (via imitosi-s)
“For me, a woman who is absorbed in her work, who does not care about gaining one’s favour, strong yet subtle at the same time, is essentially more seductive. The more she hides and abandons her femininity, the more it emerges from the very heart of her existence.”—Yohji Yamamoto (via thatkindofwoman)
“When someone said to me, "How do you feel?" or "What do you think?" or asked another direct question, I would recite a poem, and somewhere in that poem would be the feeling, somewhere in it would be the piece of information. It might be a line. It might be an image. The poem was my response.”—Audre Lorde, from an interview dated April 1981 (via violentwavesofemotion)
“You always learn from observing. You have to pick things up nonverbally because people will never tell you what you’re supposed to know. You have to get it for yourself: whatever it is that you need in order to survive. You become strong by doing the things you need to be strong for. This is the way genuine learning takes place.”— Audre Lorde, from an interview dated April 1981 (via violentwavesofemotion)
“You’re always in a rush, or else you’re too exhausted to have a proper conversation. Soon enough, the long hours, the traveling, the broken sleep have all crept into your being and become part of you, so everyone can see it, in your posture, your gaze, the way you move and talk.”—Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go (via larmoyante)
“She was desperate and she was choosy at the same time and, in a way, beautiful, but she didn’t have quite enough going for her to become what she imagined herself to be.”—Charles Bukowski, Factotum (via larmoyante)
“You have a good heart and you think the good thing is to be guilty and kind always but it’s not always kind to be gentle and soft, there’s a genuine violence softness and weakness visit on people. Sometimes self-interested is the most generous thing you can be.”—Tony Kushner (via misswallflower)
“Deciding whether or not to trust a person is like deciding whether or not to climb a tree because you might get a wonderful view from the highest branch or you might simply get covered in sap and for this reason many people choose to spend their time alone and indoors where it is harder to get a splinter.”—Lemony Snicket (via amandaonwriting)
“Yesterday, I spent 60 dollars on groceries,
took the bus home,
carried both bags with two good arms back to my studio apartment
and cooked myself dinner.
You and I may have different definitions of a good day.
This week, I paid my rent and my credit card bill,
worked 60 hours between my two jobs,
only saw the sun on my cigarette breaks
and slept like a rock.
Flossed in the morning,
locked my door,
and remembered to buy eggs.
My mother is proud of me.
It is not the kind of pride she brags about at the golf course.
She doesn’t combat topics like, ”My daughter got into Yale”
with, ”Oh yeah, my daughter remembered to buy eggs”
But she is proud.
See, she remembers what came before this.
The weeks where I forgot how to use my muscles,
how I would stay as silent as a thick fog for weeks.
She thought each phone call from an unknown number was the notice of my suicide.
These were the bad days.
My life was a gift that I wanted to return.
My head was a house of leaking faucets and burnt-out lightbulbs.
Depression, is a good lover.
So attentive; has this innate way of making everything about you.
And it is easy to forget that your bedroom is not the world,
That the dark shadows your pain casts is not mood-lighting.
It is easier to stay in this abusive relationship than fix the problems it has created.
Today, I slept in until 10,
cleaned every dish I own,
fought with the bank,
took care of paperwork.
You and I might have different definitions of adulthood.
I don’t work for salary, I didn’t graduate from college,
but I don’t speak for others anymore,
and I don’t regret anything I can’t genuinely apologize for.
And my mother is proud of me.
I burned down a house of depression,
I painted over murals of greyscale,
and it was hard to rewrite my life into one I wanted to live
But today, I want to live.
I didn’t salivate over sharp knives,
or envy the boy who tossed himself off the Brooklyn bridge.
I just cleaned my bathroom,
did the laundry,
called my brother.
Told him, “it was a good day.”—Kait Rokowski (A Good Day)
And sometimes it happens that you are friends and then
You are not friends,
And friendship has passed.
And whole days are lost and among them
A fountain empties itself.
And sometimes it happens that you are loved and then
You are not loved,
And love is past.
And whole days are lost and among them
A fountain empties itself into the grass.
And sometimes you want to speak to her and then
You do not want to speak,
Then the opportunity has passed.
Your dreams flare up, they suddenly vanish.
And also it happens that there is nowhere to go and then
There is somewhere to go,
Then you have bypassed.
And the years flare up and are gone,
Quicker than a minute.
So you have nothing.
You wonder if these things matter and then
As soon you begin to wonder if these things matter
They cease to matter,
And caring is past.
And a fountain empties itself into the grass.
“I’m sitting here thinking of all the things I wanted to apologize to you for. All the pain we caused each other. Everything I put on you. Everything I needed you to be or needed you to say. I’m sorry for that. I’ll always love you because we grew up together. You helped make me who I am. I just wanted you to know, there will be a piece of you in me always. And I’m grateful for that. Whatever someone you become and wherever you are in the world, I’m sending you love. You’re my friend to the end.”—Her (2013)
Just before she flew off like a swan to her wealthy parents’ summer home, Bruce’s college girlfriend asked him to improve his expertise at oral sex, and offered him some technical advice: use nothing but his tongue tip to flick the light switch in his room on…
“Depression turns you into a series of nouns, without the adjectives and without the verbs. You don’t remember where you misplaced your descriptions, your actions (under the sink with your emotions). You become: bed, shower, socks, coffee, keys, obligations.”—A Series of Nouns (via frank-e-fighting-words)
"I know everyone’s talking about the 50th anniversary of Beatles on Ed Sullivan, but this is also the 50th anniversary of John Waters' first film in 1964, 'Hag in a Black Leather Jacket', about a gay teenager in suburban Baltimore. The film is about an interracial wedding, shot from the roof of…
“People like saying life’s short a lot. The problem is, they don’t really mean it. It actually is short, very short, but they don’t believe in its shortness until the very end. Had they truly meant it, our world would have been a really different place. They would know what to do with their lives.”—Ray N. Kuili, Eden Can Wait (via larmoyante)