“I’m not thinking about the day when I’ll see you again, any more than I ever evoke our past — I too am blocked against all memory. But I don’t need to see you — I’m not separated from you, I’m still in the same world as you. You should know that I’m calm, involved, not at all unhappy — I have no regret, no desire, no hope for anything. I’m easy in my mind about you, and this ease of mind comes from the absolute certainty I now have that, if the worst were to happen to you, I should no longer live either […]”

Simone de Beauvoir, from Letters To Sartre (via violentwavesofemotion)

11:38 pm  240 notes

“This is to say nothing against afternoons, evenings or even midnight. Each has its portion of the spectacular. But dawn — dawn is a gift. Much is revealed about a person about his or her passion, or indifference, to this opening of the door of day. No one who loves dawn, and is abroad to see it, could be a stranger to me.”

Mary Oliver, from Long Life: Essays And Other Writings (via violentwavesofemotion)

7:46 pm  240 notes

“"We’re going to have to control your tongue," the dentist says, pulling out all the metal from my mouth. Silver bits plop and tinkle into the basin. My mouth is a motherlode.

The dentist is cleaning out my roots. I get a whiff of the stench when I gasp. “I can’t cap that tooth yet, you’re still draining,” he says.

“We’re going to have to do something about your tongue,” I hear the anger rising in his voice. My tongue keeps pushing out the wads of cotton, pushing back the drills, the long thin needles. “I’ve never seen anything as strong or as stubborn,” he says. And I think, how do you tame a wild tongue, train it to be quiet, how do you bridle it and saddle it? How do you make it lie down?”

Gloria Anzaldúa, “How to Tame a Wild Tongue,” from Borderlands/La Frontera: The New Mestiza  (via lifeinpoetry)

7:41 pm  61 notes


Polina Litvinova by Irina Vorotyntseva

7:15 pm  24,230 notes


Polina Litvinova by Irina Vorotyntseva

12:00 pm  38,779 notes

Dear Linda,

I am in the middle of a flight to St. Louis to give a reading. I was reading a New Yorker story that made me think of my mother and all alone in the seat I whispered to her “I know, Mother, I know.” (Found a pen!) And I thought of you — someday flying somewhere all alone and me dead perhaps and you wishing to speak to me.

And I want to speak back. (Linda, maybe it won’t be flying, maybe it will be at your own kitchen table drinking tea some afternoon when you are 40. Anytime.) — I want to say back.

1st, I love you.

2. You never let me down.

3. I know. I was there once. I too, was 40 and with a dead mother who I needed still.

This is my message to the 40-year-old Linda. No matter what happens you were always my bobolink, my special Linda Gray. Life is not easy. It is awfully lonely. I know that. Now you too know it — wherever you are, Linda, talking to me. But I’ve had a good life — I wrote unhappy — but I lived to the hilt. You too, Linda — Live to the HILT! To the top. I love you, 40-year old Linda, and I love what you do, what you find, what you are! — Be your own woman. Belong to those you love. Talk to my poems, and talk to your heart — I’m in both: if you need me. I lied, Linda. I did love my mother and she loved me. She never held me but I miss her, so that I have to deny I ever loved her — or she me! Silly Anne! So there!



— Anne Sexton, from a letter to her daughter, Linda Gray Sexton  (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via rub-raw)

5:21 pm  709 notes

“How paltry we are and how spectacularly we contort ourselves before our own eyes, and the eyes of others…And all for what? To hide what? To make people believe what?”

Roberto Bolaño, from 2666 (via violentwavesofemotion)

(via rub-raw)

2:43 pm  240 notes

“I regret the mornings I didn’t wake up loving you. I know you’re half a world away by now, but If you hear me, send me thunder. Send me a body big enough to fit the enormity of this earth song in you. You’re scared you’re gonna end up as just another post card I forgot to send. Just another place I found while I was running away from myself, but baby, there’s a heart underneath the bed, and it’s only ever belonged to you. I swear I still hear you buzzing inside these telephone wire hands. Please call soon.”

— Y.Z, I say your name like you’re still listening (via rustyvoices)

2:38 pm  856 notes


Valeriya Nikolenko by Romain Pivétal

12:00 pm  55 notes


Valeriya Nikolenko by Romain Pivétal

(via minimist)

1:01 am  8 notes

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