I'm nostalgic for days I've never seen.
She was so lovely and too young to die. God bless her. I never met Marilyn Monroe, but if I had, I would have tried very hard to help her. A sex symbol is a heavy load to carry when one is tired, hurt, and bewildered.
— Clara Bow on Marilyn Monroe after her death. (via clarabows)
Nothing in the world can bother you as much as your own mind, I tell you. In fact, others seem to be bothering you, but it is not others, it is your own mind.
— Sri Sri Ravi Shankar (via acideyedrops)
What if I told you I’m incapable of tolerating my own heart?
— Virginia Woolf, Night and Day (via mercurieux)
The less you know, the sounder you sleep.
— Russian proverb (via retardgrl)
There are a million ways to bleed. But you are by far my favorite.
— Iain Thomas (via escaping-the-bell-jar)
For long after we parted, I sent her letters on eggshell stationary almost the texture of tissue paper. It matched the delicate strength of her pale fingers. The letters were difficult to write and even more difficult to fold in half, out of sight. When I pictured her opening the envelopes, I also imagined her tearing up not her hands, but mine. If I had only written one, the letters would not give me anguish, but because I couldn’t stop writing and sending them, they haunted me. What would the letters tell, opened and juxtaposed sequentially? What, outside the moment, but over time, was I exposing? Without a response, I have no articulate answer, only the questions reflected backwards in the mirror.
The letters were simple expressions, not unlike self portraits. In that sense, over the years I took dozens of photos I’d never see developed. In the upper right hand margin I wrote the date. The proper distance down to the left hand margin, I wrote her name with a comma following, just grazing, the last letter. Then, leaving however much space felt right between, I signed my name in the center. If the letters were made into an animation, I suspect my name’s migration throughout the page would be the most telling. In one of the few I can recall clearly, I angrily scrawled my name over her own. In another, I signed the opposite side, all the way at the very bottom of the page.
I wrote in my journals about each letter, before and after—the rising desire, then need, to; the subsequent feelings of relief or guilt, worry or remorse, satisfaction or hope; but in these entries, I cannot see her breathing face the way I did when I wrote her name.
I found comfort in my suffering, and uncertainty in happiness and death, because what’s next is such a mystery to me. I am terrified of all the things I feel but cannot see.
— The Last Lost Continent -La Dispute.
I don’t own any equipment because I don’t play an instrument, and while I do sort of collect records I’m not ambitious or dedicated enough to do so in way that I’ve secured any rare first press colored 7″ split records or anything like that. Nearly everything that I do own on vinyl is pretty prized in that the bulk of my record collection is comprised of releases I truly and thoroughly adore. The “Black Pear Tree” Mountain Goats / Kaki King split is something I really enjoy owning. For the songs and for the sentimental aspect of it (my best friend bought it for me). Really, all of my Mountain Goats records are pretty dear to me, same goes for my Joanna Newsom catalog.
— Jordan Dreyer (via ladisputeforeverything)
It bothers me that no one has the patience to deal with someone who is just sad.
— Emily Haines (via untames)
I met Iggy Pop at Max’s Kansas City in 1970 or 1971. Me, Iggy, and Lou Reed at one table with absolutely nothing to say to each other, just looking at each other’s eye makeup.
— David Bowie.
“I guess that makes me sound crazy, but that’s alright. Lately like I feel like I might be, not that I’ve heard any voices or anything. Just the every day kind, where you forget things you shouldn’t and think too much about death.”
We are not our losses, we are only the extent to which we love.
— La Dispute, The Castle Builders.
Naguib Mahfouz, Sugar Street
If only we could see the endless string of consequences that result from our smallest actions. But we can’t know better until knowing better is useless.
— John Green (via endocrines)