Like when cream disappears into a cup of black coffee...
…and gracefully rises in swirls and patterns and then quietly vanishes.
This is how I will go.
September 2011
32 posts
My heart just won't stop banging
banging…ramming itself against the walls of its cage. It resonates in my throat…behind my eyes.
I want to carve whatever it is out. Out, god fucking dammit. Out.
I fucking stalked you in forever *back to creep status*. but do you know of any cool venues in d.c?
Paha. :) figurative stalking is always welcomed.
and why yes…I happen to know a few cool places. Music-wise, 9:30 Club is probably the most popular and then there’s the rock and roll hotel, the black cat, bohemian caverns/liv, u street music hall.
“I saw the days of the year stretching ahead like a series of bright, white boxes, and separating one box from another was sleep, like a black shade. Only for me, the long perspective of shades that set off one box from the next had suddenly snapped up, and I could see day after day glaring ahead of me like a white, broad, infinitely desolate avenue.”
—from The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath
Too much...too fucking much...
..and then nothing at all.
you're awesome and pretty and a ray of sunshine. :) I hope you live a life where beautiful women fall for you errday.
oh boy. thank you. what a message to start my day with. :)
And as nice of an idea as that may be, i think one fantastic beautiful woman would be more than sufficient.
Her Kind.
I have gone out, a possessed witch,
haunting the black air, braver at night;
dreaming evil, I have done my hitch
over the plain houses, light by light:
lonely thing, twelve-fingered, out of mind.
A woman like that is not a woman, quite.
I have been her kind.
I have found the warm caves in the woods,
filled them with skillets, carvings, shelves,
closets, silks, innumerable goods;
fixed the suppers for the worms and the elves:
whining, rearranging the disaligned.
A woman like that is misunderstood.
I have been her kind.
I have ridden in your cart, driver,
waved my nude arms at villages going by,
learning the last bright routes, survivor
where your flames still bite my thigh
and my ribs crack where your wheels wind.
A woman like that is not ashamed to die.
I have been her kind.
—Anne Sexton
When did I become such a recluse?
I can’t really say that I am appreciating my lonesome all too much tonight.
“so I wait for you like a lonely house
till you will see me again and live in me.
till then my windows ache.” —Pablo Neruda, (100 Love Sonnets: Cien sonetos de amor)
till you will see me again and live in me.
till then my windows ache.” —Pablo Neruda, (100 Love Sonnets: Cien sonetos de amor)
“I wanted to crawl in between those black lines of print the way you crawl through a fence, and go to sleep…”
—Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar
Greetings! I'm Jexi. I'm currently enjoying your blog, what's your name? Which of your parents is Indian?
WOAH! a message! from a person! It’s been so long. Oh you have just made my day. :) I am Ellie and my mom is the Indian one, Guyanese-Indian to be precise.
Sperm Made from Female Stem Cells. →
telegraph.co.uk
The possibility for same-sex biological children exists. *teary-eyed*
