Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Tuesday, September 27, 2011

"You are the most dangerous kind of female the world can ever know. You carry the seeds for your own destruction and the destruction of everyone who loves you. And a great many will love you for your beautiful face for your seductive body; but you will fail them all because you will believe they all fail you first. You are an idealist of the worst kind - the romantic idealist. Born to destroy and self destruct."
-V. C. Andrews

Friday, September 9, 2011

Group Hallucination

I am so sick
of these ancient, iron cages
that separate
us. They separate
the artists from athletes
the scholars from blue-collars
the known from the unknowns;
the Romeos from Juliets.
They separate people from people.

I do not think
such persistent,
such acceptable ideas,
should remain unchallenged.

I cannot wait
for the day
they rust away.

(Sometimes, I think we make them up inside our head.)

Wednesday, September 7, 2011


This is by Some Girl. I don't know if she's leaving blogger. But she is an incredible writer and blogger. I had two favourites when I began blogging 15 months ago, and she was one of them. This is an excerpt from her latest post.

I started this blog because I needed to know what I looked like on the inside. I needed to build a separate perception of myself...I never looked into my own face until I started this blog. This has been a simultaneous process of hiding and revealing. What I hid during the day, I revealed at night to a blank Word document. I used to be someone was the first sentence I ever wrote here and it's one of the truest things I've ever said. I used to be someone, I used to be a lot of people. First, I was a walking archive and then an arsonist, searing the past, memories and people alike, into ashes and then I was just some girl sorting through the wreckage. I can write myself out of anything, even the past versions of myself. I wrote until the multiplicity shrank so tiny that the ropes loosened and fell away. I used to be the person who needed to build this place but I don't want to be that person anymore. The clock has rolled back to zero and I am free.

Tuesday, September 6, 2011

i need to remember

“For what it’s worth: it’s never too late
or, in my case, too early
to be whoever you want to be.
There’s no time limit,
            stop whenever you want.
                   You can change
                   or stay the same,
                   there are no rules to this thing.

We can make the best or the worst of it.
I hope you make the best of it.
And I hope you see things that startle you.
I hope you feel things you never felt before.
I hope you meet people with a different point of view.
I hope you live a life you’re proud of.

If you find that you’re not,
I hope you have the strength to start all over again.”

— F. Scott Fitzgerald

Monday, September 5, 2011

things that make me happy

this is a tag by katherine i havent been able to do until now. 
write a list of things that make you happy. she is lovely,
this idea is lovely. I tag:
P.s. I Am Me

the moments when you suddenly remember how beautiful everything is
lovely children with shy smiles
goofy laughs
licking icing
hot baths
90s movies
warm, sunny weather
shy boys with lovely smiles
books you can't put down
singing when you're home alone
fresh fruit

Sunday, September 4, 2011

by Dylan Thomas

Do No Go Gentle Into That Good Night 

Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rage at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.