unbearable claustrophobia of the soul @jameshobart - Tumblr Blog

ORESTES: I struck myself. I cut right through myself, and I am nothing but the cold metal, I am cold, the sword, I don’t feel anything at all. It is too late. I have found you too late. I should like to love you. I used to see you, just you, staggering a little, drunken. But I don’t feel anything.

H.D., from Collected Poems: 1912-1944; “Electra-Orestes,” (via mournfulroses)

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erowid

Ali Michael | ph. Michael Donovan

“Fairy tales — the proper kind, those original Brothers Grimm and Hans Christian Andersen tales I recall from my Eastern European childhood, unsanitized by censorship and unsweetened by American retellings — affirm what children intuitively know to be true but are gradually taught to forget, then to dread: that the terrible and the terrific spring from the same source, and that what grants life its beauty and magic is not the absence of terror and tumult but the grace and elegance with which we navigate the gauntlet.”

— Maria Popova, “The Importance of Being Scared: Polish Nobel Laureate Wisława Szymborska on Fairy Tales and the Necessity of Fear”

CRUSH by SASHA H.

Shilo Niziolek, “Porcelain Ghosts”

“I could not stop wasting time. It was crazy. I wanted to do something with my life, but instead I went to sleep, or sung in the shower, or sat and stared at the wall. I couldn’t even tell you about anything that I saw. I didn’t talk to anybody. The cicadas kept dying outside, and as I dreamed, my mouth grew thick and venomous with silence.”

Yiwei Chai, The Jacaranda Years

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drizzlingtears

Before Dawn - Xiao Hua Yang

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holyisthenameofmyruthlessaxe

“Laura Palmer Graduates” by Amy Woolard

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soracities

“I have been younger in October than in all the months of spring”

— W.S. Merwin, from “The Love of October” (via theclassicsreader)

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aridante

Christopher Logue, War Music

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sixv-blog

Christiane F. - Wir Kinder vom Bahnhof Zoo.

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happyheidi

“When the moon came down” by Feridun Oral

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macrolit

You are thrilled by New York – I doubt you will be after five more years when you are more fully nourished from within. I carry the place around the world in my heart, but sometimes I try to shake it off in my dreams. America’s greatest promise is that something is going to happen, and after awhile you get tired of waiting because nothing ever happens to people except that they grow old and nothing happens to American art because America is the story of the moon that never rose.

F. Scott Fitzgerald, in a letter from 21 October 1925 (via macrolit)

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