IVER

La nuit, encore la nuit, la souveraine sagesse de l’obscur, le frôlement tendre de la mort, un instant d’extase pour moi, héritière de tout jardin interdit.

[scuhlly]

Devin Kelly, All that wanting, right?

[thoughtkick]

It is awful to want to go away and to want to go nowhere.

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via thoughtkick)

[weltenwellen]

“Sometimes she felt a nameless anxiety, sometimes an excessive and sudden calm. She often felt like crying, which generally was no more than an urge, as though the crisis spent itself in the desire. Some days, filled with boredom, peevish and sad. Other days, languid like a cat, becoming intoxicated by the slightest occurrences. A leaf falling, a child’s cry, and she’d think: another moment and I won’t be able to bear such happiness. And she really couldn’t bear it, though she didn’t exactly know what that happiness consisted of. She would collapse into muffled sobs, unburdened, with the foggy impression that she was surrendering, who knows how or to whom.”

— Clarice Lispector, ed. by Benjamin Moser and tr. by Katrina Dodson, The Complete Stories

[knclemwrites]

“Our society glorifies suicide in the most horrifying way. To treat inescapable darkness as romance, and unbearable pain as martyrdom is an insult to every single victim, survivor, friend, and family member affected. When Charles Bukowski claims that Hemingway blowing his brains out with a shotgun is “going out in style”, something is warped about his definition of “style”. When we teach Romeo & Juliet as love-struck teenagers and Ophelia as a tragic damsel, we teach young people that suicide is always driven by other people who will soon realize what their actions drove you to do; Worse, that it is worthy of the stars. We talk of the achievements of Hemingway, Plath, Monroe, Van Gogh, Sarah Kane, Kurt Cobain, Robin Williams, but always end the conversation with their deaths rather than their lives, claiming that they would not have made such an impact if they hadn’t been “taken so soon” - as if there is no choice when in reality there is always a choice, but suicide happens when you have fought so hard for so long that you get to the point of feeling that there is no choice. Suicide is not dying in a blaze of glory. It’s not martyrdom. It’s suicide and it’s tragic. It’s horrifying. It leaves a gaping black hole in the air where a body once stood. And that hole grows wider and darker and ripples into the stomachs and minds of every person who knew you, every person who ever glanced you or spoke to you or loved you, and it never fucking goes away. So don’t tell me that Sarah Kane’s legacy was empowered through her death when her father spends every day mourning her. Don’t tell me that Sylvia Plath did the right thing when her son did the exact same thing 40 years later. That the anguish Van Gogh suffered is the reason his art was so good and that treatment would have ruined his painting. The only way to prevent suicide is to start treating like the plague that it is, and stop trying to spread it.”

— I’ve been watching 13 Reasons Why and I have some opinions (via knclemofficial)

[nevver]

Up all night, Bezt Etam

[lifeinpoetry]

“Isn’t all that rage so ugly? And isn’t it mine, still? Good god, isn’t it mine?”

— Ashe Vernon, from “Buried,” Not a Girl

[memoryslandscape-deactivated202]

“It was the time of year, the time of day, for a small insistent sadness to pass into the texture of things. Dusk, silence, iron chill. Something lonely in the bone.”

— Don DeLillo, from White Noise (Viking, 1985)

[stargazerinmoksha]

sometimes i wonder about what you’re up to when we’re not talking, you’re so far away and i miss you as a text message doesn’t come off as good as being able to hold you to sleep and let my warmth exchange text messages with your limbs, i don’t need to make love with you or anything, i just need to feel closer. i know that we’re always going to be okay, i just wanted you to know that i’m always thinking of you and lately it’s been more vibrant and colorful. sometimes when you randomly pop into my head, i just smile. it doesn’t always have to be sad or depressing. i’m just glad that to you’re in my life and i got a solid chance to meet someone like you. i know that it’s healthy to love someone with an open heart and trust, i know that owning up to my mistakes mean that i have to be completely and utterly honest with everything that i say to you. so here it is:

“i fucking need you. and only you. don’t forget about me. you’re my lover, but you’re also my best friend. i know that we haven’t been talking much as of late, but in my mind— we never stopped talking. it’s going to pass. it’s just a thought.”

[chateauofmymind]

@horrorlesbians tag moodboard: hand in unlovable hand

[lunah-goodbye]

Sarah Kane, 4.48 Psychosis // Kaye Donachie //Andrés Cerpa, “The Vault”

[garbji]

“most days i feel i am walking through water most days i forget the sound of my voice”

— Safia Elhillo, from “abdelhalim hafez wants to see other people,” The January Children   (via lifeinpoetry)

[ciigarettte-blog]

FUCK I NEED THIS RIGHT NOW

[femaleintimacy-deactivated20210]

[luthienne]

“What should I do about the wild and the tame? The wild heart that wants to be free, and the tame heart that wants to come home. I want to be held. I don’t want you to come too close. I want you to scoop me up and bring me home at nights. I don’t want to tell you where I am. I want to keep a place among the rocks where no one can find me. I want to be with you.”

— Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping

[luthienne]

“I unlatched the shutters. The light was as intense as a love affair. I was blinded, delighted, not just because it was warm and wonderful, but because nature measures nothing. Nobody needs this much sunlight. Nobody needs droughts, volcanoes, monsoons, tornadoes either, but we get them, because our world is as extravagant as a world can be. We are the ones obsessed by measurement. The world just pours it out.”

— Jeanette Winterson, Lighthousekeeping

[objetpetita]

“Listen, I’ll tell you something else: I’d like to die alive, descending into my own tomb and shutting it myself, with a dull thud. And then go mad from pain in the earth’s darkness.”

— Clarice Lispector, Another Couple of Drunks

[trend-spotting]

Sophie Buhai