February 2011
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“I looked at her breasts and the rest of her and I thought, what a shame she’s...”
– Charles Bukowski
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Becoming a Nun
arsvitaest:
by Erica Jong
On cold days it is easy to be reasonable, to button the mouth against kisses, dust the breasts with talcum powder & forget the red pulp meat of the heart.
On those days it beats like a digital clock— not a beat at all but a steady whirring chilly as green neon, luminous as numerals in the dark, cool as electricity.
& I think: I can live without...
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frenchtwist:
Beautiful, sobbing high-geared fucking and then to lie silently like deer tracks in the freshly-fallen snow beside the one you love. That’s all. Richard Brautigan
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“I was never really insane except upon occasions when my heart was touched.”
– Edgar Allan Poe (via bloodisthenewblackk)
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disturbedsilence:
I do know that space, time, dimension, becoming, future, destiny, being, non-being, self, non-self, are nothing to me; but there is a thing which is something,
only one thing which is something, and which I feel because it wants to get out:
the presence of my bodily suffering,
the menacing, never tiring presence of my body.
Antonin Artaud
from “To Have Done with...
