Curiouser and Curiouser

"Words offer the means to meaning, and for those who will listen, the enunciation of truth." This blog has been retired for the time being, until I have the time and motivation to start working on my creative writing again. Thanks for your interest anyways and I hope you have a lovely day!

[waydowntown]

I am not the first person you loved. You are not the first person I looked at with a mouthful of forevers. We have both known loss like the sharp edges of a knife. We have both lived with lips more scar tissue than skin. Our love came unannounced in the middle of the night. Our love came when we’d given up on asking love to come. I think that has to be part of its miracle. This is how we heal. I will kiss you like forgiveness. You will hold me like I’m hope. Our arms will bandage and we will press promises between us like flowers in a book. I will write sonnets to the salt of sweat on your skin. I will write novels to the scar of your nose. I will write a dictionary of all the words I have used trying to describe the way it feels to have finally, finally found you. And I will not be afraid of your scars. I know sometimes it’s still hard to let me see you in all your cracked perfection, but please know: whether it’s the days you burn more brilliant than the sun or the nights you collapse into my lap your body broken into a thousand questions, you are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I will love you when you are a still day. I will love you when you are a hurricane.

Clementine von Radics, Mouthful of Forevers (via waydowntown)

(via tryinggtoevolve)

[oofpoetry]

Do not fall in love With people like me. people like me will love you so hard that you turn into stone into a statue where people come to marvel at how long it must have taken to carve that faraway look into your eyes Do not fall in love with people like me we will take you to museums and parks and monuments and kiss you in every beautiful place so that you can never go back to them without tasting us like blood in your mouth Do not come any closer. people like me are bombs when our time is up we will splatter loss all over your walls in angry colors that make you wish your doorway never learned our name do not fall in love with people like me. with the lonely ones we will forget our own names if it means learning yours we will make you think hurricanes are gentle that pain is a gift you will get lost in the desperation in the longing for something that is always reaching but never able to hold do not fall in love with people like me. we will destroy your apartment we will throw apologies at you that shatter on the floor and cut your feet we will never learn how to be soft we will leave. we always do.

Do Not Fall In Love With People Like Me (via perfect)

[oywiththewaywardtardis-arch-blog]

Every time I read Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, I’m seized by an overwhelming urge to read it out LOUD. (Since it’s the kind of book that is even more enjoyable when shared aloud). Then I am seized by an equally overwhelming sadness that I don’t have anyone to read it TO.

In a related...

[dutchster]

Did he just rewrite history?

[bukawww-deactivated20130925]

he rewrote history

[livelearnandpanic-blog]

gryffindor-chick:

And people say you can’t rewrite history.

[pitchblack-the-nightmare-ki-blog]

The problems of writing

Having a Beginning

Having an Ending

But WHERE’S THE MIDDLE?!?

HOW DO I GET TO THE ENDING

WHAT IS A PLOT

WHAT ARE PLOT DETAILS

WHAT IS WRITING

[livelearnandpanic-blog]

He attacked everything in life with a mix of extraordinary genius and naive incompetence, and it was often difficult to tell which was which.

Douglas Adams

[livelearnandpanic-blog]

'But I don't want to go among mad people,' Alice remarked. 'Oh, you can't help that,' said the Cat: 'We're all mad here. I'm mad. You're mad.'

Lewis Carroll

[livelearnandpanic-blog]

There are three rules for writing the novel. Unfortunately, no one knows what they are.

W. Somerset Maugham

[decembrist]

You will be out with friends when the news of her existence will be accidentally spilled all over your bar stool. Respond calmly as if it was only a change in weather, a punch line you saw coming. After your fourth shot of cheap liquor, leave the image of him kissing another woman in the toilet. In the morning, her name will be in every headline: car crash, robbery, flood. When he calls you, ignore the hundreds of ropes untangling themselves in your stomach. You are the best friend again. He invites you over for dinner and you say yes too easily. Remind yourself this isn’t special, it’s only dinner, everyone has to eat. When he greets you at the door, do not think for one second you are the reason he wore cologne tonight. In his kitchen, he will hand-feed you a piece of red pepper. His laugh will be low and warm and it will make you feel like candlelight. Do not think this is special. Do not count on your fingers the number of freckles you could kiss too easily. Try to think of pilot lights and olive oil, not everything you have ever loved about him, or it will suddenly feel boiling and possible and so close. You will find her bobby pins laying innocently on his bathroom sink. Her bobby pins. They look like the wiry legs of spiders, splinters of her undressing in his bed. Do not say anything. Think of stealing them, wearing them home in your hair. When he hugs you goodbye, let him kiss you on the forehead. Settle for target practice. At home, you will picture her across town pressing her fingers into his back like wet cement. You will wonder if she looks like you, if you are two bedrooms in the same house. Did he fall for her features like rearranged furniture? When he kisses her, does she taste like wet paint? You will want to call him. You will go as far as holding the phone in your hand, imagine telling him unimaginable things like “You are always ticking inside of me and I dream of you more often than I don’t. My body is a dead language and you pronounce each word perfectly.” Do not call him. Fall asleep to the hum of the VCR. She must make him happy. She must be his favorite place in Minneapolis. You are a souvenir shop, where he goes to remember how much people miss him when he is gone.

Sierra DeMulder, Unrequited Love Poem (via decembrist)

[livelearnandpanic-blog]

Begin at the beginning and go on till you come to the end: then stop.

Lewis Carroll

[livelearnandpanic-blog]

"The universe has no sympathy, and we're never rewarded for doing things the improper way."

Neal Schusterman

[shinji--moon-deactivated2017123]

Here’s what our parents never taught us: You will stay up on your rooftop until sunlight peels away the husk of the moon, chainsmoking cigarettes and reading Baudelaire, and you will learn that you only ever want to fall in love with someone who will stay up to watch the sun rise with you. You will fall in love with train rides, and sooner or later you will realize that nowhere seems like home anymore. A woman will kiss you and you’ll think her lips are two petals rubbing against your mouth. You will not tell anyone that you liked it. It’s okay. It is beautiful to love humans in a world where love is a metaphor for lust. You can leave if you want, with only your skin as a carry-on. All you need is a twenty in your pocket and a bus ticket. All you need is someone on the other end of the map, thinking about the supple curves of your body, to guide you to a home that stretches out for miles and miles on end. You will lie to everyone you love. They will love you anyways. One day you’ll wake up and realize that you are too big for your own skin. Molt. Don’t be afraid. Your body is a house where the shutters blow in and out against the windowpane. You are a hurricane-prone area. The glass will break through often. But it’s okay. I promise. Remember, a stranger once told you that the breeze here is something worth writing poems about.

“Here’s What Our Parents Never Taught Us,” Shinji Moon  (via attaches)

[livelearnandpanic-blog]

Be what you would seem to be -- or, if you'd like it put more simply -- Never imagine yourself not to be otherwise than what it might appear to others that what you were or might have been was not otherwise than what you had been would have appeared to them to be otherwise.

Lewis Carroll

[livelearnandpanic-blog]

Typos are very important to all written form. It gives the reader something to look for so they aren't distracted by the total lack of content in your writing.

Randy K. Millholland

[livelearnandpanic-blog]

I may not have gone where I intended to go, but I think I have ended up where I needed to be.

Douglas Adams

[livelearnandpanic-blog]

There's always something to write about. If there's not then you need to live life more aggressively.

Min Kim

[livelearnandpanic-blog]

You can approach the act of writing with nervousness, excitement, hopefulness, or even despair; the sense that you can never completely put on the page what's in your mind and heart. You can come to the act with your fists clenched and your eyes narrowed, ready to kick ass and take down names. You can come to it because you want a girl to marry you or because you want to change the world. Come to it any way but lightly. Let me say it again: you must not come lightly to the blank page.

Stephen King