September 2011
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holly-snow-and-sage:
danny elfman - ice dance...
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I love the smell of coffee, the taste of liquorice, and the feeling of grass on bare feet. (by weissewiese)
I love the smell of wood fires on a cold night in Autumn, the taste of the very first cup of coffee in the morning, and the feeling of slipping into my bed after a long day at work.
And you? (by growing-orbits)
I like the smell of pinecones picked for fall time memories, the taste of...
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holly-snow-and-sage:
sarah bareilles &...
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I’m tired of worrying. I’m tired of trying so hard and wanting so much and hoping and dreaming and doing nothing at all. I’m tired of pondering, and biting my nails, and crying and doubting and not breathing properly and worrying some more. I’m tired. I’m going to bed.
weissewiese:
Reasons to leave:
This place is too fast, things change too much, things happen too often. I would like a space where I can just sit and soak up syllabic sunlight and sentential starlight without worrying about passing traffic or seagulls that might steal my chips.
This place is too unfriendly to people who create. It is too easy to pass around these boxes of art, crates of prose,...
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Swallowed dead leaves for breakfast, all red, yellow and brown. Great mud bodies and flies, fog and rain. Been collecting twigs and green yarn, feathers for a fragile nest. Equilibrium is elusive when the skies darken and the nights lengthen, only a visceral urgency (to breathe, to run, to scream) remains. Trying to catch up with the sun, profound rivers, split wood and splinters deep. And all the...
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theoceanislikeyou asked: What do you think is worth living for in this world?
books I want to read in the near future:
(this list is only comprise of books that I own, in print or as ebooks, or books I know I have access to at the library. It does not include the dozens of books I want to read, but are not readily accessible to me at the moment, or are not out in print yet) - and none of these books I have read before.
Howl’s Moving Castle - Dianna Wynne jones
Lord of the Flies - William golding
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captaindonscap:
Misleading advertisements (from...
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elvedon:
We buried stories, the stars as a witness. There are more crinkles on the moon than our palms soaked in water for too long. Tonight is unsteady and staggering, we do not belong to our names.
Autumn is here.
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This bed is our boat. Beyond it lies an infested ocean. Sharks, piranhas and electrical eels lap at our sides. And unnameable sea monsters, all teeth and hunger. There is no mast, there is no sail. No wind to tilt our course. The tiller is broken and the rudder is in shards. All is shattered, lost amongst the waves, as we are. If fish could growl the sound would fill the air, would make...
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The girl upstairs keeps crying into her pillow. I can hear her through the vents, all muffled and distorted, her pain sounding more like the chant of a whale, gaining beauty as it travels through the bed and the floor, the tiny cracks in the wood and the specks of dust. Her pain dissolves like sugar in water and metamorphoses. I close my eyes and imagine the ocean, all vast and wild, and her...
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