November 2011
19 posts
Crashingly Beautiful: starting a poem →
crashinglybeautiful:
You are alone. Then there’s a knock On the door. It’s a word. You Bring it in. Things go OK for a while. But this word Has relatives. Soon They turn up. None of them work. They sleep on the floor, and they steal Your tennis shoes. You started it; you weren’t Content to leave things alone. Now…
“To love a man is not only to let myself be disturbed by some of the details...”
– Jean Genet, The Thief’s Journal, trans. Bernard Frechtman (via proustitute)
“You didn’t care, so I went on and on—dancing alone, and no matter what happens,...”
– Zelda to F. Scott Fitzgerald, September 1930 (via leopoldgursky)
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“Farewell, O twice beloved! A Túrin Turambar turun ambartanen: master of doom by...”
– The Silmarillion
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Power and Glory
This tremendous surge of free energy at twenty-one had no result in misbehaviour. It found expression mainly in locking my door, actually and metaphorically. Once I sat up all night, just to see how it felt after having been sent to bed so inexorably from infancy; no revelry, just reading and working. Once I slept on the floor; once with a friend, on her roof - an unforgettable experience to...
“Even our names sound delicious:
Pandora, Delilah, Bathsheba, Lola, Gilda
They...”
– Femme Fatale by Jeannine Hall Gailey (via grammatolatry)
“Don’t look back until you’ve written an entire draft, just begin each day from...”
– Will Self (via pavorst)
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Jean Rhys, "Voyage in the Dark"
caribbeanwriters:
…It was funny, but that was what I thought about more than anything else—the smell of the streets and the smells of frangipani and lime juice and cinnamon and cloves, and sweets made of ginger and syrup, and incense after funerals or Corpus Christi processions, and the patients standing outside the surgery next door, and the smell of the sea-breeze and the different smell of...
