absurd girl

Clinical psychology Ph.D. student ______________________ “All theory is gray, my friend. But forever green is the tree of life.” - Goethe

[metamorphesque]

Portrait of Fryderyk in Shifting Light, Richard Siken

[text ID: What can you know about a person? They shift in the light. / You can’t light up all sides at once. / Add a second light and you get a second darkness, it’s only fair.]

[quotes-by-dilanka]

"Amatory" is from the Latin word for "Love." "Wedlock," the condition of BEING married, is Norse, Norwegian, which means "perpetual battle." Thus, love and marriage, in many ways, are antithetical. The former is a bolt of lightning and an epiphany; the latter involves planting, tilling, and tending — which can be hard work. —The Americans, S3:E9, 40:11

[litverve]

"I have a lot of work to do today; I need to slaughter memory, Turn my living soul to stone Then teach myself to live again . . ."

Anna Akhmatova, from "Requiem", trans. Judith Hemschemeyer

[exhaled-spirals]

« She looked, and saw the black, domed sky arching over her head. And her heart dilated; she felt the great black dome in her heart. She sat under the stars, worshipping them. Her heart opened and grew vast, until the whole sky with all its stars began to pour into her, a mysterious flood of star-strung darkness. She wanted to receive the night sky into her heart. »

— Anna Kavan, Let Me Alone

[violettesiren]

The dissent of trees over the space of roots. The dissent of measurements and the names of things, the color of the intruder's eyes. The dissent of days congealing divisions, silences, the hoarded script of leftover dreams. The dissent of us determining everything. Everything,

you say. And nothing. We face each other across the swollen distance of dissent. Strangers. In a foreign land-these rooms we call ours. Our mouths broken. Your face dark with the color of my voice, and the days, disfigured, unsightly, go on with their dying. At midnight nothing left but a jack's throw of stars in the cold spring nights. Beyond reach, somewhere,

something turning slowly green, and holy.

This Spring by Regina deCormier Shekerjian

[undinesea]

Often a star was waiting for you to notice it. A wave rolled toward you out of the distant path, or as you walked under an open window, a violin yielded itself to your hearing. All this was mission.

Rainer Maria Rilke, from The Duino Elegies & The Sonnets to Orpheus: A Dual Language Edition

[journalofanobody]

“But my dreaming self refuses to be consoled. It continues to wander, aimless, homeless, alone. It cannot be convinced of its safety by any evidence drawn from my waking life.”

— Margaret Atwood (via aglassofblue)

[rubypomegranates]

“The skillset you need to survive is not the same skillset you need to love and be loved.”

Leanne Betasamosake Simpson “Islands of Decolonial Love: Stories & Songs”

[rubypomegranates]

“Individuals who want to believe that there is no fulfillment in love, that true love does not exist, cling to these assumptions because this despair is actually easier to face than the reality that love is a real fact of life but is absent from their lives.”

Bell Hooks “All About Love”

[metamorphesque]

In Praise of Boredom, Joseph Brodsky

[funeral]

The great sufferers are never bored: disease fills them, the way remorse feeds the great criminals. For any intense suffering produces a simulacrum of plenitude and proposes a terrible reality to consciousness, which it cannot elude; while suffering without substance in that temporal mourning of ennui affords consciousness nothing that forces it to fruitful action. How to cure an unlocalized and supremely impalpable disease which infects the body without leaving any trace upon it, which insinuates itself into the soul without marking it by any sign? Ennui is like a sickness we have survived, but one which has absorbed our possibilities, our reserves of attention and has left us impotent to fill the void which follows upon the disappearance of our pangs and the fading of our torments. Hell is a haven next to this displacement in time, this empty and prostrate languor in which nothing stops us but the spectacle of the universe decaying before our eyes.

Emil Cioran, A Short History of Decay

[liberatingreality]

Above all, don't lie to yourself. The man who lies to himself and listens to his own lie comes to a point that he cannot distinguish the truth within him, or around him, and so loses all respect for himself and for others. And having no respect he ceases to love.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brother's Karamazov

[dailyclassicart]

Laura Makabresku - "The Flame of Contemplation"

[thirdity]

“You write the beginning and then you go back and rewrite the beginning, and you never got off page one. It’s kind of a syndrome, and I have a rash piece of advice which is — Go on, page two, page three, and never look back. Get something finished, no matter how lousy it is. […] Perfectionists cannot get going unless they kind of do violence to their own instincts, and just blast ahead.”

— Ursula K. Le Guin, The Last Interview and Other Conversations

[petaltexturedskies]

Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can't go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does.

Margaret Atwood, The Penelopiad

[persianmom-deactivated20260602]

sometimes a bad bitch just needs to sit by the sea

[liberatingreality]

It takes courage...to endure the sharp pains of self discovery rather than choose to take the dull pain of unconsciousness that would last the rest of our lives.

Marianne Williamson