Meanwhile in my head, I'm undergoing open-heart surgery. - Anne Sexton

my dad is the perfect example of someone who doesn’t get my way of thinking but still all his warmth and understanding never feels pretentious; he loves. he loves, the man just knows how to love and it’s in the little ways; i’d never trust him with anything personal but i passionately adore us communicating, being, experiencing different stuff together, living, call it whatever you might call it; it’s certainly not a mind connection and it’s not a spiritual thing either: it’s just two hearts trying to articulate what most of the time fails to be articulated but at the same time trusting each other on another level. i’m not sure whether the word “trust” is the one i’d like to use here but it’s definitely a very private feeling i have toward him: that of boundless intimacy. and i love him okay, i love him even if he doesn’t know what i’m talking about, i love him just for being him — a child at heart, restless, self-critical, affectionate in the most meaningful way, funny, perceptive, uncompromising, at times stubborn as fuck — i love him. he’s currently sleeping in my room and i know that he’ll be leaving tomorrow (had come to pay me a visit) & i’m thinking that tomorrow the door shall close and even though i’ll certainly be glad to regain my privacy i’ll still get to feel pretty melancholic and it’s a presentiment i mean i know but i still know that i am going to feel it and idk fuck it i love him. he matters to me, i wish he knows that. i could feel him these days being overfilled with anxiety because i never seem to open up to him and i was like “but i do open up to you and you know it it’s just that it happens in our way i thought you were loving this exactly the way i am/was loving it too” and he went like “yes it still feels like you’ve never confessed anything deeply personal to me though” and man, i felt bad. i explained that it doesn’t have to feel like a confession and that this is in his head and he’s doing this to himself in vain because deep down he knows that out of my entire family he is the one i love with my soul but at the same time i could read the agony in his eyes and sigh. anyway, that’s all to say i’m going to miss the bastard i guess


13/4/14: is it something to do with my sense of trust?

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Anonymous asked: define music



"alice in the cities" dir. by wim wenders: i feel complelled to say that this is one of the most exquisite pieces of cinema i’ve ever seen in my entire life


"april is the cruellest month": i’ve been thinking about this Eliot line a lot and i think it sort of resonates with me so much, especially the choice of the word; cruellest — it’s very much on the mark i believe, such a powerful word, so clear-cut and solid and there’s this sense of finality, i don’t know why i keep coming back to it, i think that if it was any other month included in that line instead of april it’d have a very similar effect on me, i guess the validity of it doesn’t depend upon the subject matter imo it truly depends upon the feeling of utter dominance “cruelty” sustains as a word; its profound sharpness and significance. It somehow ceases to feel like something merely readable which is coherent enough in order to “makes sense”; it attains a life of its own and perhaps a deeply concrete meaning — the clarity of it is distinctive and exact; actually it strikes me as a disturbingly beautiful word choice and it fits the present tense so much it’s just like it belongs in the very moment whether or not it applies to the reader’s possible sentiments or the degree of relatability i mean after all it’s a line but it feels like i’m gazing its entire transcendence into forming a small part of eternal lucidity; it becomes whole, it is whole and i don’t know if april is indeed the cruellest month but somehow Elliot’s made it convincing beyond any further questioning and hence the tremendous quality of this line



blah blah blah something about emotions blah blah blah

(via coffeekaling)



The Rumblr’s in-house astrologer, Madame Clairevoyant, presents her latest dispatch from the stars:

Pisces: Even if you feel like a mess this week, or like the ground you walk on is not totally steady, even if the days stretch out all strange and uneven, this is a week for taking care of people you care about. It’s a week for generosity, even when you feel a little wobbly, even if you don’t feel quite solid, even if the sky gets dark. Try to be kind to everyone you know, even yourself. Call the people who have loved you the longest. Bake bread. Listen to quiet songs that remind you who you are.


i saw lady di in my sleep

in a 1920’s mood, me and Sasha aggressively dancing to some jazz without quite caring whether we’re pulling it off


beauty: with what complete and utter effortlessness can one sole punctuation mark change the entire meaning



October’s my favorite month


violent waves of exhaustion


i also tend to trust my insecurities too much



i’ve been feeling this overwhelming urgency, or rather need, to be  submerged in water. submergence or a monsoon. the heavy heavy rain of summer. the warm air the cold rain. i take scalding showers and then turn the faucet warm, smooth, cold, stand underneath the rain with my hands in my hair my mouth open wide and the sensation of temperature is overwhelming. i don’t want to walk into the ocean i want to be dropped in the middle of it. i want to swing into a lake, dive off a boulder into a river, stand beneath a waterfall naked in west virginia. i think of pools, clear water, of swimming on his back in aruba with the purple sky the two loose teeth of stars the way he would hold me so that i was flat gliding over the water flat against the horizon and then drop me in, down, towards. i want more than anything to be small, to be breathing softly, water lapping over my eyes into my mouth, swimming backwards looking up at a clear sky, everything a kaleidoscope, light fractured by the edge of the water. something reborn. something awakening. something alive, alive, alive again.

/ past