Memories and Daydreams

I said to the sun, "tell me about the big bang." The sun said, "it hurts to become." -Andrea Gibson https://linktr.ee/angelicateves

[watchoutforintellect]

Forugh Farrokhzad, from a letter to Ebrahim Golestan featured in Sin: Selected Poems of Forugh Farrokhzad

[ecrirevie]

from my newsletter, "Normal"

[ecrirevie]

on slowness that feels more like stagnation 🍃

[sinligh]

In the name of healing I bite chunks of myself daily, spit them out in my hand with the intention to wash it away later

Eventually, i end up over analyzing them, like everything else in my life

grafts of all the causes I’m still here, glued together by my mother’s fears

be the Alpha female, she said. “feed on your most beloved, a cup of the moon’s blood every night before bed for you to run alone forever, run wild, never slip”

I Shower myself with self-loathing, lick my own wounds close Keep me sane, keep me safe

loneliness to me is just another insecurity that is dangling from my prefrontal cortex, dangling right in front of my eyes… for me to see the world through it.

I spend hours looking at the bloody chunks in my hand, thinking where did i go wrong ? how much can I hold on to this heartache ?

I've been running around it all my life, running around red lines, red lines circle me, i run in circles around myself I’m all that I’ve ever knew, yet, I only know myself in fading

A distant memory, a deja vu…

All I really know, is that the only stable in my life is the fact that I exist, and that it’s a temporary state.

jamais vu.

will the lines fade if i eat what i bit off of myself again ? if i chew and chew and chew… If i teach myself to stomach it will i be whole again?

is holding on to those pieces enough to satisfy my desire to be held ?

Or does it make me a feral rogue ?

Schizophrenic delusions ticking in my head…

Sometimes I wonder if it’s my fault that I’m this alone…

then again I wasn’t the one feeding myself all the insecurities as a young child.

I wasn’t the one playing pretend.

It was never my fault, my mother thought faking happiness is the way to protect me, it was never my fault father wasn’t interested in the details, as long as I was his perfect girl…

Now, I can’t hold on to anything the way i hold on to the lunatic turmoil that makes me sway and laugh on my own personal misery.

Call it history.

Hide behind defensive humor, get my inner demons drunk on caffeine, mistake that high for happiness cause mama did too…

And wait for caffeine withdrawal to wake us up, both of us…

I’ve never been hangover, but I imagine this is how it’ll feel

The aura ? The migraine?

The urge to throw myself up to be reborn clean.

•••

•Quotes: Olivia Laing/Heather Havrilesky/ Olivia Laing/ Marya Hornbacher/Anaïs Nin/Camille Norton/ Alice Oseman/ eduardo C. Corral/anne carson/ Joanne Harris/ Hannah Green/Hannah Green/Lisel Mueller

•Original context: sinligh

•Art reference:

1. Sasha Hartslief, Late Night Shower, 2021. 2. Getting Up by Vincent Giarrano. 3.illustration by Owen Gent. 4. The Lovers on the Bridge, 1991. 5. "Beverly Edmier 1967' Keith Edmier, 1998

•song recommendation:

P.s: the whole album is a masterpiece ! Give it a try, thank me later.

[ecrirevie]

From This is my midnights

[mournfulroses]

Vita Sackville-West, from a letter to Virginia Woolf c. January 1927

[botanical-inspiration]

Beauty and variety of tree bark 🌳

[source]

[ecrirevie]

Love for the nth time

[litverve]

“We find comfort only in another beauty, in others’ music, in the poetry of others. Salvation lies with others, though solitude may taste like opium. Other people aren’t hell if you glimpse them at dawn, when their brows are clean, rinsed by dreams.”

— Adam Zagajewski, from “Another Beauty”, trans. Clare Cavanagh

[metamorphesque]

“Don’t talk to me of love. I’ve had an earful And I get tearful when I’ve downed a drink or two. I’m one of your talking wounded. I’m a hostage. I’m marooned. But I’m in Paris with you.”

— James Fenton, In Paris With You

[julia-famula]

doubles

[7cupid]

the lives they lived: jeff buckley; his father's son

[rogerwilkerson]

Freeway Traffic At Night - 1962

[catcrumb]

[hometownrockstar]

[a-sadnoodle]

I cannot express how much I adore dappled shadows formed by sunlight in paintings and photography and in real life

[great-and-small]

I also adore how this pattern has manifested itself in the form of camouflage for some species

The echo of those same dappled shadows that we paint in our art is genetically coded into a baby’s fur in order to keep her safe. A beautiful thing.

(Photos by Joel Sartore)

[leonardcohenofficial]

“To sit alone or with a few friends, half-drunk under a full moon, you just understand how lucky you are; it’s a story you can’t tell. It’s a story you almost by definition, can’t share. I’ve learned in real time to look at those things and realize: I just had a really good moment.”

— Anthony Bourdain, in his final interview