ghostremor-blog

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“No matter how much you feed the wolf, he keeps looking at the forest.”

– Ilse Lehiste (via lachantefleurie)

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She did not want to move, or to speak. She wanted to rest, to lean, to dream. She felt very tired.

Virginia Woolf, The Years (via wordsnquotes)

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The Lovers (1928)

René Magritte

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Laurel

Neave Bozorgi

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Excerpt from the short story, 'Carousel & Fort' by Amanda Lee Koe

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And I’m starving – in the literal sense. Idiots think hunger – is the body. No, hunger – is the soul, the whole weight of it falls directly on the soul.

Marina Tsvetaeva, from Earthly Signs: Moscow Diaries, 1917 - 1922 (via violentwavesofemotion)

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Tatami by Kai

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It’s to do with knowing and being known. I remember how it stopped seeming odd that in biblical Greek, knowing was used for making love. Whosit knew so-and-so. Carnal knowledge. It’s what lovers trust each other with. Knowledge of each other, not of the flesh but through the flesh, knowledge of self, the real him, the real her, in extremis, the mask slipped from the face. Every other version of oneself is on offer to the public. We share our vivacity, grief, sulks, anger, joy… we hand it out to anybody who happens to be standing around, to friends and family with a momentary sense of indecency perhaps, to strangers without hesitation. Our lovers share us with the passing trade. But in pairs we insist that we give ourselves to each other. What selves? What’s left? What else is there that hasn’t been dealt out like a deck of cards? Carnal knowledge. Personal, final, uncompromised. Knowing, being known. I revere that. Having that is being rich, you can be generous about what’s shared — she walks, she talks, she laughs, she lends a sympathetic ear, she kicks off her shoes and dances on the tables, she’s everybody’s and it don’t mean a thing, let them eat cake; knowledge is something else, the undealt card, and while it’s held it makes you free-and-easy and nice to know, and when it’s gone everything is pain. Every single thing. Every object that meets the eye, a pencil, a tangerine, a travel poster. As if the physical world has been wired up to pass a current back to the part of your brain where imagination glows like a filament in a lobe no bigger than a torch bulb. Pain.

Tom Stoppard

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I think I like myself a little broken, with rough edges, a little harder to grasp. I like poetry better than therapy anyway. The poems never judge me for healing wrong.

Clementine von Radics, from “I Stopped Going to Therapy,” Mouthful of Forevers (via lifeinpoetry)

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No one ever likes the right person.

Bret Easton Ellis, The Rules of Attraction (via featslash)

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MUST READ:

The Rules of Attraction by Bret Easton Ellis

A cult classic in literature, Bret Easton Ellis’  The Rules of Attraction recounts the story of a small group of affluent students at a liberals art college in New England in the 1980’s. Ellis brilliantly depicts the struggle of being in your 20’s. He portrays the phase of nihilism most college students experience, as well as the sadness and lost feeling of being completely unaware of one’s identity and future and the desperate search for love in every dark corner.

A meditation on reality, Ellis finely illustrates the insufficiency of words and expressions the human mind contains. The urge, the fervor, the tip of the tongue, but the failure to communicate the angst. Sentences begin and end mid-sentence. You acquire the sensation of a voyeuristic experience, one where you are eavesdropping on a conversation, you shouldn’t be, but can’t contain your curiosity.

Get the book here!

Read excerpts from the book here!

Get the FREE Amazon Kindle app to read on most devices.

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Louis Malle’s Le Feu Follet (1963)

Am I perverse to prefer failure over mediocrity? At least failure feels like something. Mediocrity to me is neither this nor that… it is nothing.

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The Fire Within (1963)

Life flows too slowly in me, So I speed it up, I set it right

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Le feu follet (Louis Mallle, 1963)