May 2012
8 posts
I am an excitable person who only understands life lyrically, musically, in whom feelings are much stronger as reason. I am so thirsty for the marvelous that only the marvelous has power over me. Anything I can not transform into something marvelous, I let go. Reality doesn’t impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or...
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Come, gather yourselves to the great supper of God, [19:18] that ye may eat flesh of kings, and flesh of chiliarchs, and flesh of strong men, and flesh of horses and of those that sit upon them, and flesh of all, both free and bond, and small and great.
tosca was wonderful
April 2012
9 posts
“Tonight I’ve watched
The moon and then
the Pleiades
go down
The night is...”
– Sappho (via palussomni)
“I want to hear raucous music, to see faces, to brush against bodies, to drink...”
– Anaïs Nin (via toutematendresse)
“What a fucking bourgeois question!”
– Andreas Baader
in The Baader Meinhof Complex (2008), a German historical drama film directed by Uli Edel
(via jvlius)
“Il y a du sublime à gaspiller une vie qui pourrait être utile,
à ne jamais...”
– Fernando Pessoa - Le Livre de l’Intranquillité (via lamemoiredesjours)
“I liked idiotic paintings, motifs over doorways, stage sets, mummers’ backdrops,...”
– Arthur Rimbaud (Delirium II. Alchemy of the Word)
The noblest kind of beauty is that which does not transport us suddenly, which does not make stormy and intoxicating impressions (such a kind easily arouses disgust) but that which slowly filters into our minds.
FRIEDRICH NIETZSCHE Beyond Good and Evil
March 2012
3 posts
господи, не дай сойти с ума. господи, не избавь. господи, низвергни. обмерли, замерли, вымерли, пока не умерли, уничтожились, не предались забвению, уже ходим униженными беспрекословными шлюхами, напрочь выебанные, оглушительно порем, лепечем, что-то разве не кричим, прося, морося мелко, загодя, не иначе исходны, но ждем, бежать подобру-поздорову. юли, старей и подыхай безвестно.
February 2012
7 posts
I crave your mouth, your voice, your hair. Silent and starving, I prowl through the streets. Bread does not nourish me, dawn disrupts me, all day I hunt for the liquid measure of your steps.
PABLO NERUDA
Warm rain falling from the mountainous clouds. Walking slowly dressed in crimson thinking of Kyoto. Kissed by a lover in the Matsuo Tiasha garden. Quiet water and loud water. Love in the afternoon in imitation of history. Love before and love after.
PETER GREENAWAY The Pillow Book
pornforblind:
Эти ваши человеческие отношения, - сказал мне Аносов, - так сложны, мучительны и загадочны, что иногда является мысль: не одиночество ли - настоящее, пока доступное счастье.
Я дал их точные признаки; они, не думая даже подставлять правую для удара щеку, не прекращают отношений с людьми; но тень печали, в благословенные, сияющие, солнечные дни цветущего острова.
waur:
piano trio no 2 — franz schubert
January 2012
12 posts
Very depressed today. Unable to write a thing. Menacing gods. I feel outcast on a cold star, unable to feel anything but an awful helpless numbness. I look down into the warm, earthy world. Into a nest of lovers’ beds, baby cribs, meal tables, all the solid commerce of life in this earth, and feel apart, enclosed in a wall of glass.
My inability to lose myself in a character, a situation....
My humble attempt to say at least who I am, to record like a machine of nerves the slightest impressions of my subjective and ultra-sensitive life—this was all emptied like a bucket that got knocked over, and it poured across the ground like the water of everything. I fashioned myself out of false colors, and the result is an attic made out to be an empire. My heart, out of which I spun the...
My mother said: you died like any man. How shall I age into that state of mind? I am the ghost of an infamous suicide, My own blue razor rusting at my throat. O pardon the one who knocks for pardon at Your gate, father - your hound-bitch, daughter, friend. It was my love that did us both to death.
SYLVIA PLATH, Electra on Azalea Path
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classicalliterature:
Shostakovich - String...
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Strange, when one thinks of all the other boys, infinite experimental kisses, test tube infatuations, crushes, pseudo-loves.
All through this physical separation, through the testing and the trying of the others, there has been this peculiar rapport, comradeship, of us two so alike, so similar, but for science-boy and humanities-girl - the introspection, self examination, biannual deep...
December 2011
12 posts
“The Louvre is a morgue; you go there to identify your friends.”
– Jean Cocteau (via abbeykoczur)
billie holiday, don’t explain
My New Year’s Eve Toast: to all the devils, lusts, passions, greeds, envies, loves, hates, strange desires, enemies ghostly and real, the army of memories, with which I do battle — may they never give me peace.
Patricia Highsmith, New Year’s Eve, 1947
vilis:
it’s 3:31 am, will not sleep listening to paroles paroles with alain delon whispering que tu es belle
!!!!!!
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merry christmas
joyeux noël
счастливого рождества
xxx
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I made no resolutions for the New Year. The habit of making plans, of criticizing, sanctioning and molding my life, is too much of a daily event for me.
ANAIS NIN
I have no fear of God, and yet fear keeps me awake at night, fear of the devil. And if I believe in the devil, I must believe in God. And if evil is abhorrent to me, I must be a saint.
Henry, save me from beatification, from the horrors of static perfection. Precipitate me into the inferno
ANAIS NIN The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin
I will always be the virgin-prostitute, the perverse angel, the two-faced sinister and saintly woman
ANAIS NIN The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin