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musings on the sun
christina perneta, noor hindi, vincent van gogh, jeanette winterson, zinaida vysota docenko, anne sexton, olga kos, khalil gibran
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She would have run amazing fan websites 🥺♥️
@thisweekinfandomhistory y’all would love this
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“I love you. You are closest to my heart, closer than any other human being. You are my extension. You are my prayer. You are my belief in God.”
— Anne Sexton, from A Self-Portrait in Letters
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The Double Image, Anne Sexton//Portrait of the Illness as Nightmare, Leila Chatti//Phaedra’s Love, Sarah Kane
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“You are a dream; I hope I never meet you.”
— Sylvia Plath, from “The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath”
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various covers of Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar pt.2
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— Sylvia Plath, from “Johnny Panic & The Bible Of Dreams.”
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Sylvia Plath, from Three Women: A Poem for Three Voices
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“When she jumped, she probably thought she would fly”
The Virgin Suicides, 1999
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the black saint & the sinner lady & the dead & the truth, morgan parker // the truth the dead know, anne sexton.
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I’ll put it out there: I am scarred by the nostalgic indicipherability of my own desires; I an engulfed by the intimidating unknown, pushed through darkness and dragged down by the irretrievable past sweetness of my memories. Anne Sexton, Anne Sexton: A Self-Portrait in Letters
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“Found a letter of Anne Sexton’s mailed on June 4, 1973. She committed suicide not long ago; carbon monoxide poisoning at her home in Weston, Massachusetts. The shock of finding the letter—And the mingled fear, dismay, excitement in rereading it—The wish that I could write to her again, as I did then, and she would write back—and again, and again—in this way mortality defeated, destiny thwarted—Strange that I did not notice, or at any rate take seriously, certain remarks in her letter that were very, very sad, in a helpless way. My tendency to interpret other people as if they were myself speaking…and their words only expressions of my own. Very true it is (and who escapes it?) that we experience the world through the filter of our own personality; or, in the psychological terms of one school of psychology, we ‘project’ our own traits onto others, and rarely experience people as they are in themselves….And yet? How could anything other be possible? Anne Sexton: ‘Yes, it is my nature to be apprehensive almost constantly, and my hunger for love is as immense as your eating people in Wonderland. When I feel the antithesis, I do not know how to get enjoyment out of it, although it is part of life and as a writer I should enjoy being in touch with agony.’ For a suicidal person like Anne Sexton to have survived to the age of forty-five, seems to me an achievement, a triumph. Virginia Woolf, living to the age of fifty-nine, is even more extraordinary. Suicides are always judged as if they were admissions of defeat, but one can take the viewpoint that their having lived as long as they did is an accomplishment of a kind. Knowing herself suicidal as a very young girl, Virginia Woolf resisted—made heroic attempts to attach herself to the exterior world—as did Anne Sexton—as do we all. Why not concentrate on the successes, the small and large joys of these lives, the genuine artistic accomplishments? After all, anyone and everyone dies; the exact way can’t be very important.”
— Joyce Carol Oates
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I am obsessed with Anne Sexton's poem "Rapunzel" and I'm trying not to think about what that says about me too hard.
I mean look at this shit
A woman who loves a woman is forever young. The mentor and the student feed off each other. /// Let your dress fall down your shoulder, come touch a copy of you /// Give me your skin as sheer as a cobweb, let me open it up and listen in and scoop out the dark /// We were fair game but we have kept out of the cesspool. We are strong. We are the good ones. Do not discover us for we lie together all in green like pond weeds. Hold me, my young dear, hold me.
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Anne Sexton, from The Fury of Flowers and Worms
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The Story and Song from the Haunted Mansion, 1969
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