/ Ask Archive
II.
Walk like pepper spray, like don’t fucking touch me, like
 don’t make me use this.
Walk like the knife in your
pocket is in your hands,
like you were born with
it there, because weren’t you?

Caitlyn Siehl,
alonesomes (via cutiewiththehellabooty)

(via tenth-circle)

I shall speak about women’s writing: about what it will do. Woman must write her self: must write about women and bring women to writing, from which they have been driven away as violently as from their bodies—for the same reasons, by the same law, with the same fatal goal. Woman must put herself into the text—as into the world and into history—by her own movement

Helene Cixous, “The Laugh of Medusa.” (via
literarymiscellany)

ph. Tom Ordoyno
Loving someone who cannot love you the same way in return is not weakness. It’s one of the most courageous things you’ll ever do. You are putting your armour at their feet and you are saying ‘I will not fight you in this. I have loved you and that means that I have already won.’

Azra.T  (via 5000letters)

likeafieldmouse:

J. M. W. Turner

1. A Harpooned Whale

2. Sea Monsters and Vessels at Sunset

3. Storm Clouds

(via holdheadhigh)

violentwavesofemotion:

Alphaville (1965) dir. by Jean Luc Godard: "…light that goes, light that returns…a single smile between us. In the quest of knowlege, I watched night create day…"

(via holdheadhigh)

Hospice recommended we starve him. I did.
I can sleep all day. Things happen and my father dies.
I go to Italy, I fall apart under Tintoretto, those smudgy
crucifixions. In another life, I am promised to a lawyer.
I have a wedding chest heavy with linen.
When I wake in a small boat filling with ocean,
my father sews the white dress into my skin.
I am given medicine to help me sleep. People are hired
to stand around my bed and hold my wrists down while
I writhe. This isn’t what I imagined, but isn’t necessarily worse.
The wedding plate shatters. My once-beloved reads me my
Miranda rights. Owls keep crashing into the bedroom
window mid-day and I’m not allowed to touch them.
I’m made to kneel at a safe distance. My father always
makes me turn away while he snaps the owl’s neck.
He is saving it, I know this, from something worse.
But I have the right to see what happens to their yellow
eyes. Do they stay open? Does he stroke their wings to calm
them down until, in his hands, they go slack?
Anything I say can and will be used against me
in the middle of the night. Boat, I dream, fills with
talons. I have the right to use them how I want.

Elegy in Which I Refuse to Turn Away // Corey Van Landingham (via deeplystained)

(via rustyvoices)

And the entire history of my love
Is you and this evening.

Hermann Hesse, 
Elizabeth  (via petrichour)

(Source: violentwavesofemotion, via petrichour)

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