chillpotato
'lit' as in illiterate
A repose for all my fellow metawhores
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Tony Hoagland, from Application for Release from the Dream; “The Complex Sentence”
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"I did not do what was written...", Henrik Edoyan (translated by metamorphesque)
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grabs your hand. you've had enough plot and exposition and character development lately im taking you to the beach episode
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Virginia Woolf, from a diary entry written in October 1920, featured in The Diary of Virginia Woolf: Vol.2, 1920-1924
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“I hope you sleep all day, and dream of me. Are you happy?”
— Virginia Woolf, from a letter to Violet Dickinson written c. October 1909
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Oh to be a student in a haunted academy, your reading companions the ghosts of a glorious past
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The sexual tension between a girl and not feeling real every time her birthday comes around
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“April is the cruelest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.”
— T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land
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Sylvia Plath, from The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath
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. . . she gave a single, long, full-throated howl, as if she wanted to rid herself at once of all the cries that pain had stored up in her.
Albert Camus ǁ The First Man (1960)
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Ilya Kaminsky, ‘Dancing in Odessa’, Dancing in Odessa
[Text ID: “It was April. The sun washed the balconies, April.”]
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Vincent van Gogh, from a letter to his brother Theo
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Edna St. Vincent Millay, from a letter featured in The Letters of Edna St. Vincent Millay
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