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Целувай ме всеки път, когато ти е скучно, щом от това ти става по-леко…
Има ли за нас едно някога?
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“It hurts to love. It's like giving yourself to be flayed and knowing that at any moment the other person may just walk off with your skin.”
- Susan Sontag, Reborn
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My dear,
Find what you love and let it kill you. Let it drain from you your all. Let it cling onto your back and weigh you down into eventual nothingness. Let it kill you, and let it devour your remains.
For all things will kill you, both slggowly and fastly, but it's much better to be killed by a lover.
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Watch Her Disappear
Last night I dreamed that I was dreaming of you
And from a window across the lawn I watched you undress
Wearing your sunset of purple tightly woven around your hair
That rose in strangled ebony curls
Moving in a yellow bedroom light
The air is wet with sound
The faraway yelping of a wounded dog
And the ground is drinking a slow faucet leak
Your house is so soft and fading as it soaks the black summer heat
A light goes on and the door opens
And a yellow cat runs out on the stream of hall light and into the yard
A wooden cherry scent is faintly breathing the air
I hear your champagne laugh
You wear two lavender orchids
One in your hair and one on your hip
A string of yellow carnival lights comes on with the dusk
Circling the lake with a slowly dipping halo
And I hear a banjo tango
And you dance into the shadow of a black poplar tree
And I watched you as you disappeared
I watched you as you disappeared
I watched you as you disappeared
I watched you as you disappeared
Tom Waits
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‘My jump is not high enough, my turns aren’t perfect, I can’t get my leg behind my ear.’ Please don’t do that. Sometimes there’s an obsession with technique that can kill your best impulses. But communicating with an art form means being vulnerable. Being imperfect. And most of the time this is much more interesting. Trust me.
Baryshnikov
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You better take care of me Lord, if you don't you're gonna have me on your hands.
Hunter S. Thompson
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If you'll excuse me, I gotta go home and have a heart attack.
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I got a big bruise on my leg. It's black and blue. It's hurting a lot now.
But it's not that kind of pain that wakes you up at 2 a.m., staring at the blank wall of your bedroom thinking if that's what you really want.
It's not that kind of pain that makes you look at your favourite dish in front of you in despair. You are starting to stir everything up hoping it's gonna get better. But not appetizing to you yet.
It's not that kind of pain that causes a big lump in your throat that you remain speechless for a long, long time. Tears becomes the only mode of describing how you feel.
It's not that kind of pain that makes you swallow up more alcohol, wishing it would go away when you wake up tomorrow.
It's not that kind of pain that fills up so quickly inside, suffocating your lungs, ripping your heart, eating you inside out.
It's not the pain inside the heart.
So, it's bearable.
- Su
"Heart Shaped Bruise"
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The Laughing Heart
your life is your life
don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
be on the watch.
there are ways out.
there is light somewhere.
it may not be much light but
it beats the darkness.
be on the watch.
the gods will offer you chances.
know them.
take them.
you can’t beat death but
you can beat death in life, sometimes.
and the more often you learn to do it,
the more light there will be.
your life is your life.
know it while you have it.
you are marvelous
the gods wait to delight
in you.
-- by Charles Bukowski
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No this is not a love story, but it is a story about love. About those who give in into it, and the price they pay. And those who run away from it, because they are afraid, or because they do not believe they're worthy of it. She ran away. He gave in.
Original sin
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Sleep late, have fun, get wild, drink whiskey and drive fast on empty streets with nothing in mind but falling in love and not getting arrested.
Hunter S. Thompson
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