wrapped up in books

workspaces: (via scout)

Fri, 23 Apr 2010 06:08:33 -0400

workspaces:

(via scout)

workspaces: scout: faulkner’s typewriter

Fri, 23 Apr 2010 06:08:13 -0400

workspaces:

scout:

faulkner’s typewriter

workspaces: lacontessa: Virginia Woolf’s writing table at...

Fri, 23 Apr 2010 06:00:19 -0400

workspaces:

lacontessa:

Virginia Woolf’s writing table at Monk’s House, Sussex, England, 1967. Photo by Gisele Freund.

"Pain comes in all forms: the small twinge, a bit of soreness, the random pain, the normal pains we..."

Sun, 18 Apr 2010 12:51:22 -0400

“Pain comes in all forms: the small twinge, a bit of soreness, the random pain, the normal pains we live with every day. Then there’s the kind of pain we can’t ignore: a level of pain so great that it blocks out everything else, makes the rest of the world fade away until all we can think about is how much we hurt. How we manage our pain is up to us. Pain. We anesthetize, ride it out, embrace it, ignore it… And for some of us, the best way to manage pain is to just push through it.”

- Grey’s Anatomy (via julie911) (via quote-book)

Moon in the Window | Dorianne Laux

Sun, 18 Apr 2010 07:10:09 -0400

I wish I could say I was the kind of child
who watched the moon from her window,
would turn toward it and wonder.
I never wondered. I read. Dark signs
that crawled toward the edge of the page.
It took me years to grow a heart
from paper and glue. All I had
was a flashlight, bright as the moon,
a white hole blazing beneath the sheets.

This poem is for the pillow clutchers/ for those looking into...

Sun, 18 Apr 2010 06:44:48 -0400

This poem is for the pillow clutchers/ for those looking into the imaginary eyes of the person who fills their mind with sugarplum smiles/ for those who have a cannon of dreams ready and waiting to blossom/ for the men and the women who want to be understood in that way that only someone who kisses you can understand you/ this poem is for you.

this poem is not for the desperate/ the pathetic/ the lame/the loser/not for the one who hasn’t gotten laid in awhile/not for the one who says they’re “choosing not to date” for awhile/there is no such thing/this poem is for the people who cannot bring themselves to admit that they would give their right leg for any length of time with the person on their mind.

forgive me/I am not a brave woman/I do not know what lurks in the hearts of humans and I don’t really want to know/if what’s there mirrors memories I show in my face on bad days it holds kisses that are long gone/people who have disappeared/and passions that have faded into the ether of the past/nothing lasts/that is the one lesson this coward can say she is able to teach.

this poem is for all those who wish to say “I’m sorry”/I’m sorry I couldn’t love you/you deserve love/I’m sorry I couldn’t give something to you/you deserve to be given to/I’m sorry that for every person that loves somebody/another person just doesn’t want to/and sometimes we’re the lucky ones/right/we get to feel sweet truth in the night/the bodies we reach out to are miraculously there/but I know the despair that comes when they are not/I know the long nights and the doubt and the fear and that crawling back to a womb that just isn’t there/I know intensity’s address and the letdown that rents there/I’m sorry for it/it takes years off your life and it cannot be avoided.

and some times these little words are crutches for the crush that we feel/so this poem is a pathetic vehicle for me to tell you/each one of you/that I love you/in so many ways/in the same ways that stay up nights and days/dreaming up the perfect way to be there for someone/meals you would cook for them/poems you would write for them and the things you plan to say when they say no/well I love you/and you will never know how in the slight of a magician’s hand we could’ve been lovers and grandly in love/could’ve changed the whole game/written words on the horizon/changed the compromise/but you will know something else instead/bitter as bitter ever gets/more bitter than a rotten peach pit/more bitter than a child’s most terrifying nightmare at night/you will know that I don’t reflect what I see in your eyes/will will share some banal recognition/some cordial understanding but have I mentioned that I love you for not lying/so many people lying all the time/I hate them/so I love you/and you will still go home alone/and that is very hard to do.

for all the humans with love for those who aren’t their lovers/I love you.

and so the poem ends because we know that it will/but before it slips away like everything else/I will attempt the only words I can think of that are a fraction as good as a kiss: when you reach out at night and find not someone/but the cold grey light of day that wakes you up like a slap/like a curse/like an insult/I love you/when you stay at home thinking of those who are long gone or those who are getting kisses from someone that is not you/I love you/for those who want what they probably need and whose bodies are starving not for food/for me and for you and for all the people who never knew or understood what you would do for them/I love you/I love you/I love you.

ghostgrl: (via mishsquish, loveyourchaos)

Sat, 17 Apr 2010 23:45:13 -0400

ghostgrl:

(via mishsquish, loveyourchaos)

(via misswallflower)

Sat, 17 Apr 2010 22:47:37 -0400

(via misswallflower)

(via suicidewatch)

Sat, 17 Apr 2010 22:34:31 -0400

(via suicidewatch)

(via swampgirl, burnthatdress)

Sat, 17 Apr 2010 22:04:50 -0400

(via swampgirl, burnthatdress)

"Can you understand? Someone, somewhere, can you understand me a little, love me a little? For all my despair, for all my ideals, for all that - I love life. But it is hard, and I have so much - so very much to learn.”

Sat, 17 Apr 2010 13:15:37 -0400

melancholynotes:

from ‘The Journals of Sylvia Plath’ by Sylvia Plath

"To venture causes anxiety, but not to venture is to lose one’s self…And to venture in the highest is..."

Sat, 17 Apr 2010 03:13:15 -0400

“To venture causes anxiety, but not to venture is to lose one’s self…And to venture in the highest is precisely to be conscious of one’s self”

- Soren Kierkegaard (via timeforawakening) (via fuckyeahexistentialism)

fuckyeahrussianliterature: Tolstoy by Nikolai Ge, 1982.

Sat, 17 Apr 2010 02:47:32 -0400

fuckyeahrussianliterature:

Tolstoy by Nikolai Ge, 1982.

"Any idiot can face a crisis - it’s day to day living that wears you out."

Sat, 17 Apr 2010 02:47:20 -0400

“Any idiot can face a crisis - it’s day to day living that wears you out.”

- Anton Chekhov (via tweeveele) (via fuckyeahrussianliterature)

"People are more and more moved by envy now, by the desire to satisfy their material greed, and by..."

Sat, 17 Apr 2010 02:44:43 -0400

“People are more and more moved by envy now, by the desire to satisfy their material greed, and by vanity. Giving dinners, riding in private carriages, occupying high social positions, and having myriads of servants—- these are considered so important by some that they devote their whole lives to acquiring them and sacrifice for their sake their love of their fellow men, and sometimes even kill themselves if they cannot obtain what they believe they must have. It is the same with those who are not rich. And, as to the poor, who cannot satisfy their needs at all, they just drown their envy of others in alcohol. But the way they are being aroused now, it will soon be blood rather than liquor on which they will get drunk. Now let me ask you: Do you really think that such men are free?”

- Fyodor Dostoevsky (via loveandzombies) (via dostoyevsky)

"Happiness is meted out to us but once in life ; all that comes afterwards is merely pain."

Sat, 17 Apr 2010 02:44:07 -0400

“Happiness is meted out to us but once in life ; all that comes afterwards is merely pain.”

- Dostoesvky on a letter to his niece, 1870 (via dostoyevsky)

"Without war, people grow torpid in riches and comfort, and lose the power of thinking and feeling..."

Sat, 17 Apr 2010 02:43:50 -0400

“Without war, people grow torpid in riches and comfort, and lose the power of thinking and feeling nobly; they get brutal, and fall back into barbarism. I am not speaking of individuals, but of whole races. Without pain, one does not comprehend joy. Ideals are purified by suffering, as gold is by fire.”

- Dostoevsky on a letter to his niece, 1870 (via dostoyevsky)

"Don’t let us forget that the causes of human actions are usually immeasurably more complex and..."

Sat, 17 Apr 2010 02:43:03 -0400

“Don’t let us forget that the causes of human actions are usually immeasurably more complex and varied than our subsequent explanations of them.”

- The Idiot (via witchseason) (via dostoyevsky)

fuckyeahexistentialism: whokilled: The Who’s Who of...

Sat, 17 Apr 2010 02:20:34 -0400

fuckyeahexistentialism:

whokilled:

The Who’s Who of Existentialism gather together in one photo (most notably, see Camus in the centre, with Beauvoir behind him and Sartre to his left).

I also feel like this is the visual to a bad “How many existentialists does it take to screw in a lightbulb” joke.

"Do you not know that there comes a midnight hour when every one has to throw off his mask? Do you..."

Sat, 17 Apr 2010 02:20:19 -0400

“Do you not know that there comes a midnight hour when every one has to throw off his mask? Do you believe that life will always let itself be mocked? Do you think you can slip away a little before midnight in order to avoid this? Or are you not terrified by it? I have seen men in real life who so long deceived others that at last their true nature could not reveal itself; In every man there is something which to a certain degree prevents him from becoming perfectly transparent to himself; and this may be the case in so high a degree, he may be so inexplicably woven into relationships of life which extend far beyond himself that he almost cannot reveal himself. But he who cannot reveal himself cannot love, and he who cannot love is the most unhappy man of all.”

- Soren Kierkegaard (via zacmilam) (via fuckyeahexistentialism)