Cryathlete @soufflegold - Tumblr Blog

Maybe it’s a woman he met, she said. Look, isn’t that a woman’s scratch or bite? It was a scorpion, he said. Androctonus australis.

A postcard. Neat handwriting fills the rectangle. Half my days I cannot bear not to touch you. The rest of the time I feel it doesn’t matter if I ever see you again. It isn’t the morality, it is how much you can bear. No date, no name attached.

Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient

diamondformm

sometimes i’ll clean my room and then just sit quietly in it

norwegianmonk-deactivated201707

salemwitchtrials-deactivated202

“Eventually you will have to give up this love (…) it has a morbid heart.”

— Bluets, Maggie Nelson

genterie

195195119511951-deactivated2021

shotfromguns

Photograph of a page in a book:

I’m Going Back to Minnesota Where Sadness Makes Sense DANEZ SMITH

O California, don’t you know the sun is only a god if you learn to starve for him? I’m bored with the ocean I stood at the lip of it, dressed in down, praying for snow I know, I’m strange, too much light makes me nervous at least in this land where the trees always bear green. I know something that doesn’t die can’t be beautiful. Have you ever stood on a frozen lake, California? The sun above you, the snow & stalled sea—a field of mirror all demanding to be the sun too, everything around you is light & it’s gorgeous & if you stay too long it will kill you & it’s so sad, you know? You’re the only warm thing for miles & the only thing that can’t shine.

nervoservo

Joseph Beuys

Honey is Flowing (Plastic Postcard: Verso), 1974

airecl-deactivated20190822

la collectionneuse, eric rohmer, 1967

arabellesicardi

niktipolos

:arabellesicardi: I think about this paragraph every night, I think. Oh, Maggie.

i’m still thinking about this paragraph maybe a year later and jesus christ i think it will be there when i die too

This is my third day playing truant from work, I’m too old to be doing this still, constantly finding trapdoors out of my life. I’m house-sitting for my friend while she camps on a freezing Cornish beach with her boyfriend. She’s an angel who offered it to me as a ‘change of scene’. I love killing off ambitions and alienating powerful people and trying to find a way to make my life a big romantic defiance. My flatmate’s antidote to me saying sentences like that is to shake his head at me and say, ‘I think you’ve watched too many French films.’ There’s forever smears of butter on the crockery in our flat because we’re always eating too much toast and refusing to participate. I’m trying to tie my hair up and plot a better way of living, but so far all I have on my list is 1) Move somewhere where the days are slow enough for you to need kitchenware such as a big jug. I met someone who spent their summer working in a garden and everything they said was so beautifully understated, more like sipping than a sentence. I’ve been taking love poems like pills all morning; I’m determined about absolutely nothing except a steadfast will to find pleasure despite a poverty of scene, eat desserts, and destroy all my lists.

drunkplum

nathaniel russell

Sarah I miss you, come back with your words and thoughts.

This is just so kind it made me want to cry a bit, I miss this too, I’m trying very hard to exist MORE but it’s hard!! most of my energies this year have been channelled into hating rich people to be honest, what a waste, but the one thing i have been doing is listening very intently