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Mary Ruefle, from Trances of the Blast; “Abdication”

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I thank everyone I don’t love. They don’t cause me heartache; they don’t make me write long letters; they don’t disturb my dreams. I don’t wait for them anxiously; I don’t read their horoscopes in magazines; I don’t dial their numbers; I don’t think of them. I thank them a lot. They don’t turn my life upside down.

— Dunya Mikhail, from “Non-Military Statements,” The War Works Hard tr. Elizabeth Winslow

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Jeanette Winterson, Why Be Happy When You Could Be Normal?

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“Nobody taught me to want. But now I want. I remain lying down with eyes open, looking at the ceiling. Inside is the darkness. A pulsating I is taking shape. There are sunflowers. There is tall wheat.”

— Clarice Lispector, The Stream of Life

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snow and dirty rain, richard siken

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Finding yourself in a hole, at the bottom of a hole, in almost total solitude, and discovering that only writing can save you.

Marguerite Duras, from “Writing,” Writing, tr. Mark Polizzotti (via lifeinpoetry)

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mood

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I stopped wanting to go out. That happens very easily. It’s as if you had always done that – lived in a few rooms and gone from one to the other. The light is a different colour every hour and the shadows fall differently and make different patterns. You feel peaceful, but when you try to think it’s as if you’re face to face with a high, dark wall. Really all you want is night, and to lie in the dark and pull the sheet over your head and sleep, and before you know where you are it is night – It’s as if you were dead.

Jean Rhys, Voyage in the Dark 

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Thought of the day:

How different my life would be

if i could, once in a while

eat the freaking food I want.

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The older I grow, the more I think love & romance are mostly storytelling. Images we inherit from generations before us, a mix&match of wishes and failures and could-have-beens. And we want - unconsciously, at the very least - to fit in. Tell stories ourselves.

The thing is, I think we tell ourselves these stories to make them bearable and worth sharing. Otherwise, romantic love is just an awkward feeling.

god im reading a text about romance fiction (especially targeted at young adults) for class and one sentence in it literally made my brain explode because ive been thinking about this kind of stuff too, how “Many people wouldn’t fall in love if they’ve never heard about it before.” and like…imagine there was no ideal/overaccentuated image of love and romance painted in postmodern mass media….how would we love? would it be purer? more authentic? what would we do differently? would we fall in love at all if we werent constantly being fed an ideal concept of love as the norm in mass media? like what is a natural process of human feelings and what is just a projection of how we want to love and want to be loved based on what we’ve seen on tv and read in books etc? in this essay i will

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Forest walk, Provence

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Bittersweet

or rather, the Day I Decided I’d Listen to Myself and Not The Circumstances.

A very weird date Second date He said he was going to kiss me And he did And I let him Even though I had known for an hour I didn’t want to And for once in my life I said so And I feel proud of myself I feel lot of things I don’t know how to sort out Maybe frustrated Maybe at loss, a bit Mostly proud Relieved, too.

But I can’t shake the feeling there’s something wrong with me. A little something.