i’m literally like a paragraph and a half away (plus one works cited sheet) from finishing my last assignment of the semester so obviously it’s taking me 47.89 hours to do it
i just rediscovered kiwis omg
tonight at the bar, this old ass fucking man came in with crazy hair and sat down at the piano and started playing so so soooooo beautifully, i’m talking like moonlight sonata shit for an hour. i went to the bartender and “anonymously” paid for his next drink. thanks dude, you totally were the highlight of my week.
“Mr. Speaker, perhaps the next time, the minister should stick to his knitting instead of offering unsolicited marriage advice.”
so many hetero-normative discourses, not enough time
there is no way to be logical about this when the only thing a person can ever be sure of in any given situation is how they feel.
you are shining so brightly, that the dim inevitability of what we’re likely to achieve is tossed aside and though i am a smart woman, i think i’ll still choose you. every time.
because we are well versed in deception and leaning, eyes that dart from every corner of the room to each other, side way glances that keep us from looking ahead, moving forward. the small moments are the most debilitating.
in the most literal and figurative nature, you love all the parts of me that i sometimes forget are there. you speak my language in a world where words are now starting to fall short.
i think about the way you touched my elbows and everything in me sinks.
i just had a bottle of wine for dinner GOODNIGHT Y’ALL
"Emotions, in my experience, aren’t covered by single words. I don’t believe in ‘sadness,’ ‘joy,’ or ‘regret.’ Maybe the best proof that the language is patriarchal is that it oversimplifies feeling. I’d like to have at my disposal complicated hybrid emotions, Germanic train-car constructions like, say, ‘the happiness that attends disaster.’ Or: ‘the disappointment of sleeping with one’s fantasy.’ I’d like to show how ‘intimations of mortality brought on by aging family members’ connects with ‘the hatred of mirrors that begins in middle age.’ I’d like to have a word for ‘the sadness inspired by failing restaurants’ as well as for ‘the excitement of getting a room with a minibar.’ I’ve never had the right words to describe my life, and now that I’ve entered my story, I need them more than ever."
— Jeffrey Eugenides, Middlesex
(Source: waxenneat, via sylvides)
"There is a theory that watching unbearable stories about other people lost in grief and rage is good for you—may cleanse you of your darkness. Do you want to go down to the pits of yourself all alone? Not much. What if an actor could do it for you? Isn’t that why they are called actors? They act for you. You sacrifice them to action. And this sacrifice is a mode of deepest intimacy of you with your own life. Within it you watch [yourself] act out the present or possible organization of your nature. You can be aware of your own awareness of this nature as you never are at the moment of experience. The actor, by reiterating you, sacrifices a moment of his own life in order to give you a story of yours."
— Anne Carson, Grief Lessons: Four Plays
(Source: nonsensical--gal, via sylvides)
i am in your head. why is that so difficult for you to understand?