life's a drag

23 • the girl on the train reading unhinged books

[miramiramira]

There's an awning above the post office and every spring birds make their nests in the gaps in the concrete. You hear the twitter, the restless movement of sparrows and swallows flying in and out and burrowing deeper. And underneath, littering the ground, are always tiny corpses, little baby birds with huge eyes who have fallen out, their hearts and digestive tracts a dark mass under the translucent skin, who get sniffed by the neighbourhood dogs on their morning walks. I have grown to hate running errands, going to the post office to pay the electricity bill. I avert my eyes. I feel my heart constrict with those that no longer beat.

[miramiramira]

Today we took out the motorcycle. It's Dad's last day home before going off for four weeks and the weather is nice enough, and so we took out the motorcycle, as we do. One of the first rules of riding a motorcycle Dad taught me was that it's customary to wave, rise a hand, a finger, whatever, in acknowledgement of every motorcycle that passes you on the road. A community thing. A boy once tried to impress me by showing me a biker jacket with shells he had thrifted. I smiled and said, yeah, I have one of those at home. He sulked and barely spoke to me for the rest of the afternoon. He didn't even have a driver's license. Sometimes I mourn that I have to forgo the storyline where I'm demure and squealing when boys take sharp turns and speed on mountain roads.

[tcmreads]

reading in bed. painting by marta astrain.

[miramiramira]

I woke up at half past six, woken by my puppy chewing on the gold necklace I haven't taken off since my eighteenth birthday. Batting my eyes open and it's immediately off for a long walk and then back to bed to click around on my laptop, bleary-eyed, until I deem it necessary to get up and go about whatever it is I ought to do. It's hot and humid outside; the sort of weather that makes you crave watermelon and freshly squeezed orange juice and the crunch of an apple. What do I read today? Something in French. Susan Sontag. A play.

[miramiramira]

Good god, I have so many half-finished books piled on the coffee table. Doubling down and endeavouring to finish them all crosses my mind but I know it'll overwhelm me the second I put my mind to it. There's Distant Star, which I'm reading along with my father - I bought us both a copy for his birthday so we have something to chat about when we are on the phone. Infinite Jest, which my best friend bought for me to make me smile without asking if I already had a copy (I did) and I promised I would finally bite the bullet and read it. Satantango, which I picked up before a screening of the Tarr film back in March. I adore it. I get distracted regardless of my love. My Dark Vanessa, which I could finish in an afternoon - the writing is so breezy in comparison to the books I usually read, but it feels sort of. Vapid? Wuthering Heights, which is the most recent addition to the pile and the one I'm still pursuing actively, in endeavour of writing something at least half-informed on the film. My two cents into the chasm of discourse. I wish my reading pace was faster. I wish I were more systematic, more prolific. I study literature for goodness's sake, don't I? In my eyes, I will never be enough of a reader. I wish I could devour books like I did at thirteen.

[miramiramira]

I once wrote a post reading 'all I want from life is to be beautiful and disgustingly overeducated.' This was years ago and I'm not sure I've achieved either. Truth be told, I'm sure I haven't. But I do think about it often. I lost 15 kilos, I bought a whole new closet, I know little bit about everything but not enough to be well rounded, I doubt my eloquence. I'm trying to learn French. I want to learn Italian because I'm going to Venice in two months. I got into collecting vintage Vogues. I can walk in heels better than in flats. I think about reading more than I actually read. I need to read more. I wish I were one of those people who devour articles and tomes. My attention is fleeting, my mind wanders. I wish I wrote. When I was little I thought I'd have books under my belt by 20. I'm 25. I had to ask my parents for a dog because, after all, this is their flat. I waste my days away. I think a whole lot. I think more than I do. Today I listened to my parents' stories from their holiday in Morocco. I went for a run with my puppy. I want to lose another 7 kilos. I'm craving ice cream and a can of something fizzy. The weather is edging on summer and my hair is greasy, not because of the argan oil that's in it. My lips a chapped, my knees are bruised. Besides the hair, I find all of it rather charming.

[miramiramira]

from The Journals of Sylvia Plath

[txt: I am part man, and I notice women’s breasts and thighs with the calculation of a man choosing a mistress… but that is the artist and the analytical attitude towards the female body… for I am more a woman; even as I long for full breasts and a beautiful body so do I abhor the sensuousness which they bring… I desire the things which will destroy me in the end…]

[miraisstillalive]

wine and flowers and unwashed plates and the red top I never wear

[miraisstillalive]

Jacques Rivette's women - Duelle (1976)

[johnnycrass]

And if you're 20 minutes into a French film and still haven't figured out who the pervert is, it just might be you 

[icarus-showmethemoon]

inspired by boop day, reblog this post if its ok for people to send you random asks and interact on your posts with no judgement. i want to talk to people.

[tearfulangel]

sorry for being weird, the loneliness and the need for a deeper, more meaningful human connection is eating me alive

[miramiramira]

Why is it always between having a crush (crying screaming throwing up) or a chasm of ontological loneliness so deep it feels like I spooned out all of my organs and replaced them with a black hole.

[ozgurkedi]

[a-canceled-stamp]

"i can fix him" "i can make him worse" yeah well i can boop him

[miramiramira]

Would he boop me on tumblr tho?

[unaliveish]

nathan landers