Burbles 'n Words

Like it says on the tin

[burblesnwords]

"Stretch pants are just as dangerous to werewolves as highways." -- Stephen Graham Jones, Mongrels

[burblesnwords]

"We are many people. We separate. We tangle. We re-lock." -- Jac Jemc, The Grip of It

[burblesnwords]

We run out of things to tell each other. We share second and even third-tier stories we'd never bother other people with. Those minutiae calcify into the bones of our intimacy.

-- Jac Jemc, The Grip of It

[burblesnwords]

"[She] had a vision of the two of them stuck inside the tunnel, a bloated, veiny penis with googly eyes rising from the water."

-- Josh Malerman, A House at the Bottom of a Lake

[burblesnwords]

"He has about him the gleeful, shrewd brutality of a crocodile." - Lois Murphy, Soon

[lifeinpoetry]

To be the object of desire is to be defined in the passive case. 

To exist in the passive case is to die in the passive case – that is, to be killed.

This is the moral of the fairy tale about the perfect woman. 

— Angela Carter, from The Sadeian Woman

[megairea]

I will eat you slowly with kisses even though the killer in you has gotten out.

Anne Sexton, from Loving the Killer; Love Poems, 1969 (via megairea)

[burblesnwords]

Bad guys don't just die by themselves, I mean. Sometimes they need help in the form of a furie running at them, her mouth open in scream, her eyes white hot...

Stephen Graham Jones, My Heart is a Chainsaw

[burblesnwords]

That is why we distance ourselves. That's why we make jokes. We don't do it because it's fun— we do it so we can get by... and sometimes because it's fun. But mostly it's the getting by thing.

Dr. Perry Cox, Scrubs

[macrolit]

The children we once were, she thought, live inside us like rings on a tree.

Simon Van Booy 

[antigonick]

If the moon smiled, she would resemble you. You leave the same impression Of something beautiful, but annihilating.

Sylvia Plath, excerpt of The Rival 

[burblesnwords]

In violence we are torn away from each other, and this world into the next... ... but BECOMING is always an agony.

Stephanie Dray, A Day of Fire: A Novel of Pompeii

[burblesnwords]

And when she laughed, low like a note in a cello's long throat, it was as if she had been the one to teach the world the sound.

Cassandra Khaw, Nothing But Blackened Teeth

[burblesnwords]

No artistry to the swoop of his arm but a knife is a knife is a knife is a sharp edge meant to split the seams of the skin, open up the torso and let in the light. I bayed like a wolf under the lunatic moon as blood gushed free.

Cassandra Khaw, Nothing But Blackened Teeth

[burblesnwords]

I see her sometimes. Or at least, I think I do. Reflected in the windows, her face as wan as mine. But it is always my reflection, the eyes smudged of definition, the mouth blotted in shadow so it looks like there's nothing but blackened teeth.

Cassandra Khaw, Nothing But Blackened Teeth

[burblesnwords]

'It's like noshing on the actual anatomical heart of somebody who scarred your beloved and thought they'd got away with it,' [they] said. 'THAT heart, ground to ash and shot through with darts of heat, salt, spice, and sulfurous syrup, as if honey was measured out, set ablaze'...

Helen Oyeyemi, Gingerbread

[oldshrewsburyian]

I’m sure almost no one deludes themselves that all their ancestors were decent. Pick a vein, any vein: mud mixed with lightning flows through, an unruly fusion of bad blood and good.

Peaces, Helen Oyeyemi