Purple mountains somewhat less majestic than where I'm standing.
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Purple mountains somewhat less majestic than where I'm standing.
Warning: Contains Language Kiku Koibito invited me to share one of my older poems. Rather than merely cast it into the ephemera of social media, I thought I'd capture it here.
I really do struggle with your pathetic need to be “sick” when I’m going through flare up. Do you honestly need attention that much you have to “out do” my hell?? I truly cannot cope with this much longer. You say you love me…. I can only see you using me. I’m almost at the point of no return, and I do not know who to talk to, so that this is a rational issue, rather than me misreading the situation. I honestly believe that I hate you more than I love you.
Thepathinfog
One Upmanship
Source: reddit
“During a party, Luis Buñuel, seduced by Carrington’s beauty and emboldened by the notion that she had transcended all bourgeois morality, proposed (with his characteristic bluntness) that she become his mistress. Without even waiting for her answer, he gave her the key to the secret studio that he used as a love nest and told her to meet him at three o’clock the next afternoon. Early the next morning, Leonora went to visit the place alone. She found it tasteless: It looked exactly like a motel room. Taking advantage of the fact that she was in her menstrual period, she covered her hands with blood and used them to make bloody handprints all over the walls in order to provide a bit of decoration for that anonymous, impersonal room. Buñuel never spoke to her again.”
Alejandro Jodorowsky tells the story of the day Luis Buñuel was out-Buñueled by Leonora Carrington. From "The Spiritual Journey of Alejandro Jodorowsky: The Creator of El Topo" [x]
Let's disregard the fact that nobody knows about troll anatomy and just enjoy the juvinile flipoff fest.
I still think this could be canon.