Where The Wild Things Are

wyvern / any pronouns

[shyghosties]

[litaratura]

Erica Jong, from “Bitter Herb”, Witches

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

Anna Akhmatova, tr. by Stanley Kuntz and Max Hayward, from “Crucifixion,”

[majestativa]

It was as if a hurricane touched me, full of noise and random force. Then I was there! I felt myself shudder all over. The flesh of my face hurt a little, but what did that matter! I looked down into her eyes and I smiled. Beautiful she was, so beautiful. The goddess with her long black plaited hair. Impulsively I took her in my arms and kissed her; kissed her cold lips and felt them yield to me just a little.

ANNE RICE — The Queen of the Damned, (The Vampire Chronicles #3), (1988)

[majestativa]

I was in her arms in this chilling darkness, in the familiar scent of winter, and her blood was mine again, and it was enslaving me.

ANNE RICE — The Queen of the Damned, (The Vampire Chronicles #3), (1988)

[mournfulroses]

Albert Camus, from a letter to María Casares featured in Correspondance, 1944-1959

[seraphinesaintclair]

Seraphine Saintclair, “Deathless Flame”

[majestativa]

I might lose her forever, my fear greater than my desire to touch her. [...] She is my re-occurring dream. She holds onto me, has me under her spell.

SHERI-D WILSON — Goddess Gone Fishing for a Map of the Universe: The Poems, (2012)

[hymnfell]

[shisasan]

Anaïs Nin, Delta of Venus, originally published: 1977

[seraphinesaintclair]

Delmira Agustini, “To Your Muse”

[majestativa]

Queen of the underground, [...] You are Kali.

SHERI-D WILSON — Goddess Gone Fishing for a Map of the Universe: The Poems, (2012)

[seraphinesaintclair]

Charles Baudelaire, “Bertha’s Eyes”

[xshayarsha]

“(…) somewhere the white spring of sleep flows into the dark spring of death. I have never cared to gaze, as they slept, upon those I loved; they were resting from me, I know; they were escaping me too.”

— Marguerite Yourcenar, from Memoirs of Hadrian.

[luthienne]

“And it was only spring, / the world’s unreasoning body / run amok, like a saint’s, with glory, / that overwhelmed a young girl into unreasoning sadness.”

— Lisel Mueller, from Waving from Shore: Poems; “Joy”

[seraphinesaintclair]

Seraphine Saintclair, “Moon Wreathed, Mirror Clawed”

[bookowlnews]

“the beloved feels that her lover sees something ..“in herself more than herself’.., which ..is the inscription of desire into its object, ..what the lover sees is the lost part of himself contained in ..the Other”

— LESS THAN NOTHING - SLAVOJ ZIZEK on something “which exists only for the lover’s gaze”