“Write to me in spite of my silence. Sometimes it seems I no longer have anything to say to anyone except to you and in everything I intend to do, I would be at quite a loss if I could not turn to you.”—Albert Camus, a letter to Jean Grenier
“So when people I like do something terrible,” I said, “I just flense them and forgive them.”
”Flense?” he said. “What’s flense?”
“It’s what whalers used to do to whale carcasses when they got them on board,” I said. “They would strip off the skin and blubber and meat right down to the skeleton. I do that in my head to people—get rid of all the meat so I can see nothing but their souls. Then I forgive them.”—Kurt Vonnegut, Bluebeard
“Oh well, what the hell, you obviously want to be alone, so I’ll leave you alone. Go ahead and think away to your heart’s content! But don’t get me wrong. I’m not totally mad at you. I’m just sad. You were so nice to me when I was having my problems, but now that you’re having yours, it seems there’s not a thing I can do for you. You’re all locked up in that little world of yours, and when I try knocking on the door, you just sort of look up for a second and go right back inside.”—Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood
You are every ounce of horror, every reminding second of a completely terrible life. You’re the single most constant mistake of why most my body aches, and from the cold, iron shackles you locked around my heart to the chunks of my life you picked out from your teeth. I remember for a moment about the person I used to be.
City of Caterpillar - And You’re Wondering How A Top Floor Could Replace Heaven
Waving your goodbyes with your plastic hands and century-old arctic kisses. And not a finger lifts till it all turns to shit and you all act like you’re impressed. You slouch now even further down as you’re wondering how a top floor could replace the heaven you once saw so well. We’ve built it all, we’ve made our gods, now we’re locked in ourselves. An airbag could save my life, when my lungs collapse from methane gas of melting ice caps, if it was airtight and not uptight. So laugh yourself red ‘cause in the end I know you’ll choke. (If it was airtight: I know you’d choke)
Do you have a boyfriend/girlfriend? What's your favourite thing to do in the whole entire world? Irrelevant questions!
Um.. I am not interested in being in a relationship with anybody at the moment. And my favourite thing to do in the world in no particular order would be sleeping/ fucking/ dreaming I suppose. (It’s incredibly hard to isolate a favourite thing in this category).
“Tell me about the dream where we pull the bodies out of the lake and dress them in warm clothes again. How it was late, and no one could sleep, the horses running until they forget that they are horses. It’s not like a tree where the roots have to end somewhere, it’s more like a song on a policeman’s radio, how we rolled up the carpet so we could dance, and the days were bright red, and every time we kissed there was another apple to slice into pieces. Look at the light through the windowpane. That means it’s noon, that means we’re inconsolable. Tell me how all this, and love too, will ruin us. These, our bodies, possessed by light. Tell me we’ll never get used to it.”—Richard Siken