Rivka The Scribbler

καλά και ιερά Italy | 21 | litterature student

[ms-forever-suicide-deactivated2]

wiggles my ass at you bug style

[deviika]

—Albert Camus

[metamorphesque]

kiss me hard enough to invert me

Yves Olade, Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, Nickie Zimov, Carmen Tyrrell, Stefano Dania, Edvard Munch, Angelica Alzona

[petaltexturedskies]

I call it a November-loneliness because there is a sort of demanding stillness in my heart and it, more than ever, inflames both my mental and psychological system. November never pauses, it listlessly seems to show off, don’t you think so? Or, rather, it does pause but it is always a hellish pause

Katherine Mansfield, from a letter to Virginia Woolf written c. November 1921

[petaltexturedskies]

I am not a woman, but the light that falls on this gate, on this ground. l am the seasons, I think sometimes, January, May, November; the mud, the mist, the dawn. I cannot be tossed about, or float gently, or mix with other people.

Virginia Woolf, The Waves

[redlipstickresurrected]

Palomitz aka Paloma Salgado Díaz (Chilean, based Concepción, Chile) - Noctámbulos, Painting

[juno-infernal]

sometimes the tragedy of distance is very simple. i want to get groceries with you

[ivynightshade]

fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘i mother it, the absence of her ii. i was hard to bear from the very start.’

[text id: my sadness is a fire that i built to keep my hands warm on lonely nights. // art by sivan roshianu // i keep my misery bared between my teeth. i refuse to let her leave. / i am nothing without this obsession of mine.]

[hereternalsins]

I just want a humble, murderously simple thing:

That a person be glad when I walk into the room.

- Marina Tsvetaeva, On Love

[mournfulroses]

Sylvia Plath, from The Collected Poems of Sylvia Plath; "Three Women,"

[lovely-abeille-deactivated20241]

a questionnaire, noor unnahar // haunted womanhood, heather havrilesky // lamb's head on a plate, viggo johansen // citizen illegal, josé olivarez // grief lessons: four plays by euripides; tr., anne carson

[lunamonchtuna]

— Benjamin Alire Sáenz, “To the Desert” from Dark and Perfect (El Paso: Cinco Puntos Press, 1995) (via lunamonchtuna)

[soracities]

Czesław Miłosz, from “It Was Winter” (tr. Czesław Miłosz, Renata Gorczynski, Robert Hass, & Robert Pinsky), New and Collected Poems: 1931-2001 [ID'd]

[aworsening]

What could I have been? What will I be?

i. Between the Bars, Elliott Smith / ii. @danielcalmdown / iii. The Bell Jar, Sylvia Plath / iv. Things You Wanted To Say But Never Did, Geloy Concepcion

[lunamonchtuna]

— Franz Kafka, from Letters to Milena (via lumamonchtuna)

[typodescript]

[text: I miss you deeply, unfathomably, senselessly, terribly.]

[typewriter-worries]

The Glass Essay, Anne Carson | Molly Brodak, Molly Brodak

[typewriter-worries]

in a perfect world, those two are the call

and this is the response

[fuckmaster-unlimited]

boob window showing off the gaping hole in my chest