středa 10/5/17

after being turned down 

theres nothing left than

pointing at your own ext 

memory is, rather than a reminder,

a burned area of where youve once been.

“I had the craziest dream last night.”

Black Swan (2010) dir. Darren Aronofsky

Ashes of Time (1994) dir.Wong Kar Wai

Then we headed home. Talking about all the things we were going to do. […] About summer, even though winter had barely begun. About all the summers of our lives. […] We became effusive and beautiful birds flew out of our mouths. We had a sneak preview of the future and it looked damn good.

Lars Saabye Christensen, from Beatles (Arcadia, 2009)

They fuck you up, your mum and dad. They may not mean to, but they do. They fill you with the faults they had And add some extra, just for you. But they were fucked up in their turn  By fools in old-style hats and coats, Who half the time were soppy-stern And half at one another’s throats. Man hands on misery to man. It deepens like a coastal shelf. Get out as early as you can, And don’t have any kids yourself.

‘This Be The Verse’ by Philip Larkin (via thepudupudu)

The bed itself is an operating table where my dreams slice me to pieces.

Anne Sexton, from “The Lost Lie” featured in The Complete Poems (via watchoutforintellect)

You make me feel like home. You make me feel that the world is not strange.

Anne Sexton, A Self-Portrait In Letters (via thelovejournals)

I lie in bed, still trembling. You can wet the rim of a glass and run your finger around the rim and it will make a sound. This is what I feel like: this sound of glass. I feel like the word shatter. I want to be with someone.

From The Handmaid’s Tale by Margaret Atwood (via hush-syrup)

1954.8　昭和２９年８月号 

The leaf. The reach. The blossom. The abandon.

Eavan Boland, from New Collected Poems: “The Woman Turns Herself Into A Fish,” (via violentwavesofemotion)

I don’t feel guilt at being unsociable, though I may sometimes regret it because my loneliness is painful. But when I move into the world, it feels like a moral fall — like seeking love in a whorehouse.

Susan Sontag, from a diary entry featured in As Consciousness Is Harnessed To Flesh: Journals & Notebooks, 1964 - 1980 (via expeditum)

Susan Sarandon (Cannes, 1978)

Solitude (2014)

Los Feliz by Iciar J. Carrasco