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[lucylinguicide-blog]

Lies

At night she awakens and crawls, hand over hand from the dismal pit of her existence. She searches with blind, milky eyes. Searches for the one, the one who could save her. Her fingernails scratch at the skin of children and tear out the veins of those who come close to stare.

She tries to stand but her knees are decayed and cracked and she collapses back to the pavement. The broken streets tear…

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[theclassicsreader]

The person, be it gentleman or lady, who has not pleasure in a good novel, must be intolerably stupid.

Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey (via theclassicsreader)

[bookphile]

I can feel the books I might write just sitting under my ribs. Like another heart.

Speak Easy, Catherynne M Valente (via bookphile)

[xosweetestangel]

📚

[thoughts-memories]

[bey]

Netflix and adopt a dog with me.

[especiallypeaches]

People aren’t always going to care, even when they’re supposed to. And that’s okay.

especiallypeaches (via especiallypeaches)

[lucylinguicide-blog]

Jet Noise

I met him on a Sunday afternoon. It was unseasonably warm, just a few clouds in the blue sky. He kissed me right on the lips before we even spoke, then he drove us to the beach. We took our shoes off and I followed him through the sand dunes. My feet were warm, the breeze was cool. I was looking down at the tracks in the sand when his fingers found mine and I smiled. He led the way to a long section of low gnarled trees. There was a small, secluded clearing off to the left of the path. He lifted me up, wrapped my legs around his waist, and carried me, so that my bare feet would not touch the rough ground. He set me down gently, as if I was made of glass. He laid out a blanket and sat down, pulling me by my hand to meet him. The world around us was silent except for the jet noise that drowned out the sounds of my screams.

[lucylinguicide-blog]

That Song

I heard that song Come on the radio. I closed my eyes And we were together again.

[northerist]

fuck it, I miss you and it’s shit.

(via northerist)

[lucylinguicide-blog]

Postcard Fiction: Sarah

Sarah is alone. All of her friendships slowly died off like her cats, when she stopped feeding them. They tried to reach out and get her attention, but it was no use. Sarah could see nothing but herself, then she smashed all the mirrors.

Sarah’s once athletic body is now thin and brittle, like her hair. She used to be in love, but she can’t remember the man’s name. Sarah can’t remember anything that happened before her death.

[lucylinguicide-blog]

Amazing dinner! #harperstable #southernfood #bestfoodever (at Harper's Table)

[lucylinguicide-blog]

#blackhair #redlips

[lucylinguicide-blog]

The Devil’s Request

Are you a bad person? What’s the worse thing you’ve ever done? Tell me. Is it something so bad that you’ll never tell another person ever, you’ll die without anyone knowing about it? Maybe you whisper it to yourself when you’re laying in bed at night, just to get it off your chest, just to hear how it would sound if you actually did tell someone.

Did you ruin someone’s life? Did you get away with it? Maybe it wasn’t one single event, maybe it was over the course of time. You manipulated them, you lowered their self esteem, you made them less of a person than they were before they trusted you.

Did you kill something? An animal, a person? Maybe you didn’t mean to, maybe you had to, maybe it was just for fun. Do you think about it, what it felt like, what they must’ve felt like?

Did you steal, did you lie? You broke someone’s heart and you tell everyone that they deserved it. You did drugs, you didn’t care. You cheated, you cheated again, and you liked it.

Maybe that one terrible thing, the most terrible thing, maybe it makes you feel good. Maybe you laugh about it to yourself sometimes, unable to hold back that complete joy that you get from knowing you got away with it.

Tell me about it. You know you want to. I won’t judge, I won’t call you names or look at you with disgust. You’ll feel free and good and weightless. You can laugh, you can cry, it makes no difference to me.

Whatever it is, I promise you, I’ve done worse.

[lucylinguicide-blog]

Book review: Nothing

The book, Nothing, by Janne Teller, is translated from it’s original language of Danish, and in the same way that foreign films do not follow the standard Hollywood format, this book was unlike your typical young adult novel.

The story is about a class of young teens who are perfectly fine and normal until one of them has an epiphany. He realizes that everything is meaningless and, in turn, nothing is worth doing. He shouts this every day to the other kids from the top of a tree, where he’s taken refuge, berating them for going on with their meaningless lives. The rest of the class refuses to agree with him even though deep inside they suspect he’s right.

They band together to prove him wrong by creating a pile of the most meaningful things they posses. When no one offers up anything of worth they start choosing for each other what they must give up. It starts out with harmless with things like someone’s favorite sandals and a diary, but soon escalates to a disturbing level which leads to violence, destruction and even death.

This book is described in the cover flap as “A Lord of the Flies for the 21st century.” Although Lord of the Flies was required reading in High School, I never really appreciated the message until I re-read it as an adult. I think this book has the same kind of layers of understanding to it. It may be for and about young adults, but the message is a very mature one.

I give this book a 5/5….read it!!

[lucylinguicide-blog]

Goodwill Classic!

[lucylinguicide-blog]

The Letter

Dear -----,

I wrote you a letter, but I never sent it. It’s too late to send it now, but I remember what it talked about. It talked about how much fun we had when we were together. When we were together our laughter overflowed. We had loud adventures and we had times of silent stillness. I remember them all.

The letter talked about the regret I feel in my stomach when I think about the choices I made. The choices based on thoughts I had. The thoughts that convinced me that we were just pretending, that the words we told each other were lines in a play. A play we were acting out to fill the time in our days. The days before we became adults and things that mattered happened. Things that made us responsible and fulfilled.

The letter is long gone. Gone like the chance to right the wrongs. The wrongs that I caused. Caused by my fear and inability to see what you saw. I see it now, sometimes, in the eyes of others, other who I wish were you.

There’s someone I know who reminds me of you. Every time I’m near them my heart beats faster, because even my heart remembers you.

The letter is lost, thrown away, like the many chances I had. The chances I had to be with you. I hope you’ve forgotten, moved on. I hope you look back on those times with me and think that we were silly and young and meaningless.

I hope you don’t feel like I do.

Love Always, -----