January 2009
94 posts
“Don’t be afraid of death, be afraid of an unlived life. You don’t have to live forever, you just have to live.”
—Tuck Everlasting (via littlemiss)
“do you know how much i ache to feel your skin? to hear your voice? do you know how my body literally hurts when i think about how much i want to feel your arms around me? lust does not even begin to describe it. it’s beyond that. it’s honestly like i am missing a part of me. and it hurts.”
—(via potterspoet) (via sleepanddream)
“I’ll give you a ten second window to get into my pants. No, really. 10….9….8….Come on only 7 seconds left!”
—
-Josh. Aka my personal comedian/cheer-upper.
True story.
“In this weird, twisted way, I know you miss me. Not because I want to believe it, but because you will never find another girl that will love you like I do.”
—(via littlemiss)
Listen
Love this cdMotion City Soundtrack - Everything Is Alright
Play
Behind the corpse in the reservoir,
behind the ghost on the links,
behind the lady who dances
and the man who madly drinks,
under the look of fatigue
the attack of migraine and the sigh
there is always another story,
there is more than meets the eye.
-WH Auden
“Human beings are funny. They long to be with the person they love but refuse to admit openly. Some are afraid to show even the slightest sign of affection because of fear. Fear that their feelings may not be recognized, or even worst, returned. But one thing about human beings puzzles me the most is their conscious effort to be connected with the object of their affection even if it kills them slowly within.”
—
Sigmund Freud (via constellation) (via suzywire) (via tuesdayslove) (via unicornology) (via lanz-angel)
oh god no since when is Freud so so so right!i studied Freud and ripped his theories apart, why have i never seen this before?
(via electricalgloom)
Listen
DVNO-Justice
“And these children that you spit on, as they try to change their world, are immune to your consultations. They’re quite aware of what they’re going through.”
—David Bowie
“I honestly couldn’t care less if you like the same bands or you’ve read the same books. Tell me one original thing, tell me one true, real thing that brings me to my fucking knees that I’ve never heard before and I’m yours”
—I Wrote This For You (via sleepanddream)
“There’s a little truth behind every ‘just kidding’, a little curiosity behind every ‘just wondering’, a little knowledge behind every ‘I don’t know’, a little emotion behind every ‘I don’t care’, and a little kick of lie behind the distant eyes of someone saying ‘I don’t love you.’”
—(via mypaperheart) (via lovebot) (via theresolution) (via sleepanddream)
“Life is like a box of crayons. Most people are the 8-color boxes, but what you’re really looking for are the 64-color boxes with the sharpeners on the back. I fancy myself to be a 64-color box, though I’ve got a few missing. It’s ok though, because I’ve got some more vibrant colors like periwinkle at my disposal. I have a bit of a problem though in that I can only meet the 8-color boxes. Does anyone else have that problem? I mean there are so many different colors of life, of feeling, of articulation. So when I meet someone who’s an 8-color type, I’m like, “Hey girl, magenta!” and she’s like, “Oh, you mean purple!” and she goes off on her purple thing, and I’m like, “No - I want magenta!”
—John Mayer (via 13smiles) (via bon-bon) (via samsally) (via heartsparks) (via letterboxlove)
Play
Listen
Putting You Next To Me
“If one day, we discovered that we only had five minutes left to say what we wanted to say, every phone booth, every cell phone, would be occupied by people calling others to stammer that they love them.”
—(via littlemiss) (via finallyseeing)
A Little Love Poem (andy weaver)
Someone who hates scrabble.
Someone who sleeps on her back near an open window in winter, her breath rolling like a river into night.
Someone who wants me to wake her in the morning by reading ee cummings’ love poems, giving a small candle-flicker of a smile just before opening her eyes.
Someone who appreciates the architecture of churches, but refuses to step inside.
Someone who has hands fit to hold hurt sparrows and robins.
Someone who threw out an her Alice Cooper records when she found out he loves to golf.
Someone who would swerve a new car into the ditch to avoid a frog crossing the road.
Someone who would tattoo my name on her arm in writing the same colour as her skin, so it would appear slowly from nowhere when she suntanned, people thinking her blood was telling secrets to the world of its own accord.
Someone who learned Spanish to read Marquez, or Lorca, or Neruda.
Someone whose hips whisper their own stories of the serpent and the garden of Eden.
Someone who bites the back of my neck like a leopardess carrying her kitten to safety.
Someone who’ll make me wait for her to come out of the shower.
Someone whose smallest movements amaze me: her hair falling over her eyes, the soft swell of her hips when she ties down, a deep sigh when she sleeps.
Someone who maps every ticklish part of my body and then uses her knowledge strictly for evil.
Someone who paints our bodies black and makes love with me under the stars.
Someone who burns through my chest like that first shot of scotch.
Someone whose tongue, if we’re kept apart too long, would nervously trace my face into the roof of her mouth.
Someone who practises her signature with her wrong hand, in case of accidents or a sudden arrest.
Someone whose fingrnails smell faintly of her hair.
Someone who reminds me of the soft tickle of fog.
Someone who would rush outside in the middle of the night, setting a spider onto the lawn, never admitting it’s because she hates rain.
Someone who understands the unforgivable importance of ravens.
Someone wholl flicker into my lips with the ferocity of a dragonfly.
Someone who will open, thick, pungent and vital, like a Mapplethorpe flower.
Someone who has searched for me like a near-sighted woman groping for her glasses, stubbing her toes and swearing in Yiddish.
Someone who would understand why Steve and Dave and Paul and I sat in a bar staring at the mirror behind us for twenty minutes because somebody had asked what would happen if you looked at yourself in a mirror using a pair of binoculars unti1 we had to admit the question was too big for us, and we turned back to the safe optics of the beer bottle.
Someone who would just happen to cut my wrist shortly after reading Ondaatje’s “The Time Around Scars. “
Someone who’ll stare softly but straight at me, smiling reassuringly when I tell her how my 73 year old Medieval lit prof looked up from Chaucer, stared blankly over the class’s heads and said that even the happiest marriage will end in death.
Someone who understands the efficiency inherent in suicide.
Someone who knows that love can be the thickest slice of hell we’ll ever taste.
Someone who would dance with me by the sides of highways.
“I dream of running my fingers through your hair.”
—
(via sooshi) (via rainier) (via unicornology
I think this kind of sums it up
“This is your life and it’s ending one minute at a time.”
—Fight Club (via littlemiss)
Play
Listen
Over the Pond-The Album Leaf
reality
Some friends will accept you for who you are simply because they do not know you at all.
I carry your heart with me
I carry your heart with me (I carry it in
my heart)
I am never without it (anywhere
I go you go, my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing, my darling)
I fear no fate (for you are my fate ,my sweet)
I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true)
and it’s you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart
I carry your heart (I carry it in my heart)
-EE Cummings
Listen
“Hear You Me” - Jimmy Eat World
What is going on with the posting of the amazing songs tonight?
