these violent delights

what a riot.

[vovler]

This one is mine :

The ENFP personality is a true free spirit. They are often the life of the party, but unlike Explorers, they are less interested in the sheer excitement and pleasure of the moment than they are in enjoying the social and emotional connections they make with others. Charming, independent, energetic and compassionate, the 7% of the population that they comprise can certainly be felt in any crowd.

Test Yourself :)

Find Your Personality

[cmharrow]

I just want to share all of myself with someone. The good parts, the bad parts that only the worst parts of society agree with, the parts that I am ashamed to be. I hate crying. I hate talking to people because I'm scared they might say something mean and I'm scared that I might cry. I hate crying. When I'm drunk I don't cry. When I'm drunk no one is mean. When I'm drunk, I might possibly be the mean one. I might even be a snob. I might even not give a shit if you like me. I might give all the shits in the world. I'm a mess. All things at once and sometimes, nothing at all.

[cmharrow]

Pace

I was tired. I trudged through the muck and mess of Isobel. If I tried, I could leave her. If I tried, I was an asshole. I didn't want to be an asshole. Not to her. When I saw her in the castle bookstore all I wanted was to drag her through the streets by her yellow fingertips. I also wanted her to be my dance partner. I was triumphant with the discovery of her. Marx's death had seemed like something concocted by my mother. Like, if I snooped I would find her alive somewhere in the world. Possibly in Ekaterinburg. But I was frightened of the alternative. It was better to dream the dream of Marx being alive somewhere else. Not dead in this city. Isobel, of course, was a disappointment. She had no nerve endings. No verve. No anger or prurient friends. She might've liked me if I was someone people liked. Only, there was no such thing as "liking" someone like me. I repelled "like." Either Isobel found she loved me within the first few seconds of our eyes catching or she hated me when I opened my mouth and dragged my tongue under my front teeth. It was something only nervous, self-degrading Maus did. It might have made me likeable if I wasn't so goddamn vicious when I was self-degrading and nervous. When Isobel murmured in her sleep, I crept close to listen. She didn't talk in her sleep anymore than I talked while instrumenting. She made noise, sounds, whimpers and some of those sounded like words. I liked listening to her now because she sounded like Marx. Even looked like her if I imagined her with a short, choppy fringe and long, tousled hair besides the point. I never let Marx kiss me for obvious reasons. She had, though, once. I didn't like to tug on those memories, even gingerly. Even for a mini-second. Instead, I kissed Isobel's slack mouth and pretended she was kissing me back and the murmurs she made were murmurs of pleasure. Instead, I thought of the last person I'd kissed and how it had felt to be man-handled and how if I had a choice, if I could bring myself to be Maus for more than a few minutes, I would be with Cole. Right now. Spending no more time on Isobel and her problems. Instead, creating my own. I fell away and lay beside her. She was cold from the open window and winter. I held her hand. "If you weren't so stupidly pretty I would've socked you," she said like Katherine Hepburn. Liar.

[cmharrow]

I have also started drawing again. Don't ask. I was in a dungeon of sorts.

[cmharrow]

Update

I am aware I haven't posted anything in a while, and also, that I've changed my blog name. I do characters from time to time, and currently, I am Harrow. Harrow who is entirely pleased with his life and was/is having too much fun living. Anyway, school is back and I'm going to it this year. Yay. Lol. I am still a girl. Harrow is just an American art student I like to write about. The point of this post is to say that... I like two males. One is my age and pisses me off with his complete lack of concern for my feelings. I like him because we have a lot in common. Too much in my opinion. The other is kind of too young and still immature, but I've had some fun with him. He pisses me off with his adorable selfies. I feel like telling him to stop, but they make my life more pleasant. That is all. I will be writing. Or writhing. I don't know which yet. Probably both. And, I'm taking intro to Latin. I'm so excited. I really missed reading poetry on here :(

[cmharrow]

My Top Five (so far in this life)

1. Frank O'Hara 2. Mayakovsky 3. David B. Goldstein 4. Rilke 5. Shakespeare

[cmharrow]

Silent Bodies

I wonder if people know how incredibly sad I am. I want to be around people and be drunk. I am tired of work and want. I need to be free. I do not know how to get there, is freedom a destination? (Of course it is.) I really want to fall in love. There is this boy, three years younger with evergreen eyes and dusty hair. I want to fall in love with him. My mother laughs. I was in love with his older brother and his sepia-ness. He looks like a bronze statue. Of a god. I thought he was the sun. I, obviously, was (or am) the moon.

[cmharrow]

Deborah is Singing

The sound of her voice, ivy twisting around my neck, I wept, The nails of Fear tearing into my flesh And where, where, where was Sam The Starlit Beggar? I knew her name but dared not speak it, My lover was too far gone And would not hear it.

[cmharrow]

when your father sent raven out I wept because he would not return when he sent dove I wept because she would

[suicideblonde]

Romeo + Juliet (1996)

[cmharrow]

won't you stay?

Where were we when Margaret lost her life? I thought I'd die; I was misery, gluttonous. The pain of loss, the sad slip of grief across my tongue, I was strung up by bodiless Orpheus , -- The lyre never sounded quite right Without a heart in those fingertips that played it -- I know I said I loved her best, But that was before I knew she was dead.

[cmharrow]

I just finished The Virgin Suicides. I feel quieter.

[cmharrow]

May 7

I don't know how to explain myself, Why I often think of sprawling myself out in snow And waiting to freeze, Waiting to sit up and enter that faint trance Where I am on fire and my fingers ache and throb And I begin to undress -- 'I am on fire and the snow is just sand.' The stars pay me no mind, but I look up at them When the world is black and stand, with head thrown back, Amazed. As if there is nothing more beautiful than the spaces I can't touch. Before I learned that masturbation was a terrible thing, I spent minutes in bed attempting to memorize the strokes of pleasure, Quick and warm and receding, a quick heart, and the sudden close of eyes or squeezing that accompanied what I felt was love. I never got past the way I wanted a cat Or the way I felt when sisterly superstition sent that cat packing in the middle of the night when I was eight. If I try to be happy, I am cut down by my reflection, Judgmental of all the things I can never change And all of the anger and misunderstandings inflicted On a heart large enough to bury -- I don't know anything about you, reader, But I am sad, and I think you might be sad as well. I finished my first book in a year today, Always failing to sit still and feel my own misery, I stopped and began to read poems, Always the same ones, over and over again, As if they would somehow remind me to breathe like a year ago, Remind me of how affectionate I was of being alive, And now, only seeing the destruction that awaits all living things. I try really hard not be sad, And letting go of books that I should read in favour of books I want to read has given me a little peace. I hope for more, soon.

[cmharrow]

I have forgotten every reason I loved you, The season you walked into my life is my least favourite, And I can still taste the bitterness of damp, heavy leaves And condensed windows As we waited for the storm of our youth. I loved you, it seems, for only one day, And have been stuck there for a decade.

[jesusquesada]

Visit Original Link

[cmharrow]

blood

try as you might, you will never reach the inside of your lovers, lovers keep themselves closed off as daughters, and sons will forget you are their mothers -- don't forget, blood can by thinned by water.

[cmharrow]

Louvre Closed on Account of Pickpockets

My love for you is grand, duchess. Grander than the Grand Canyon, grander than Grand Bear and Grand Pa, and Grand Ma. I love you, dear. Is what I would say if I did, I promise. When I'm older and the cows have gone home, I'll be your everything. I'll make a living selling myself door-to-door. The stay-at-homes will love my ass, they'll love my class, they'll love my sass. No? Then what, then what, darling dear duchess? How shall I please you? Fly you to the moon? Oh, I can do that after a week of sex behind the white picket fences of famous America. I'll be wary of the husbands, but golly gee, they wouldn't shoot little ol' me. This ain't American Beauty. I ain't a straight man being mistaken for a homosexual man by a homophobic ex-conversion camp homosexual man. I don't love American beauties, honey. Some of them, sure, they're lovely, but, what happened to Old Hollywood glamour and the sexy lines and more is more? How those damn woman had personalities and were pushing out, saying, "fuck this shit, I'm a human being, my mouth ain't just for blowing cocks." I still remember watching They Shoot Horses, Don't They? Jane Fonda, that's a woman. That's what society has done to woman. If you ain't beautiful and easy, you ain't nothing. You ain't a woman. You ain't going to get love. You aren't beautiful. You're a bitch, and what use is any of that? I'm just sick, that's all, duchess. When I finish my theses, I'll be yours. I'll be your woman, you can tie me up in your basement, you can keep me. But, just so we're clear, I'm not going to do all the work around the tent. If you must stay home, then, you work for me. You mow the lawn, you do the dishes, wash the walls, sweep the floors, do the laundry. If you want me to do anything else after a long day of prostitution, you have got to hold up your end the bargain. Will we have sex?! Why, of course we will, duchess. Why would you ask such a question. Oh, they've developed this new drug. I've got some samples. It will be all good. I'm still a young man, duchess. I'll give you babies, if that's what you want. I'll hold your hand through the pregnancy, help you with the little foals, then, when they're all grown up, they can get a job and move out. We'll say adios, we'll say sayonara, we'll say adieu, we'll say arriverdci, we'll say haste la vista, babies! It'll be alright, duchess. It'll be alright. I'll grow up for you, duchess.