Sometimes the way people in the twc describe vaginas in their erotica (or really just anything) makes me want to sew mine up and run away from life.
Have you SEEN a vagina? Have you any experience with a thesaurus? Please stop, you’re making my downstairs mixup cringe.
All religion is regressive and pernicious by nature and is a barrier to human spiritual and intellectual growth, progress, and the pursuit of harmonious coexistence - and therefore to happiness, equality and equanimity within the universe itself. I do not accept the reflexive, fully predictable…
The Dilemma of Worth
She possesses the strength, the intellect, the inherent worth to intimidate—to dominate—nearly the whole of humanity. Yet, she searches for the one who will not buckle beneath her strength; who will not be intimidated by her own mental prowess; who will not hide his eyes from the brilliant light that she exudes—the one to whom she might bow without a flicker of shame in her heart.
I am howling this rage into your stars. I hope you feel every second of it, baying into the night. Run screaming to hide behind the nearest crutch because the animal you made haunts your nightmares.
Run run run little girl, because if I catch you I will fucking ruin you.
Cours, petit lapin, cours.
We aren’t possessed, we’re the demons themselves.
“It seems to me that the desire to make art produces an ongoing experience of longing, a restlessness sometimes, but not inevitably, played out romantically, or sexually. Always there seems something ahead, the next poem or story, visible, at least, apprehensible, but unreachable. To perceive it at all is to be haunted by it; some sound, some tone, becomes a torment – the poem embodying that sound seems to exist somewhere already finished. It’s like a lighthouse, except that, as one swims towards it, it backs away.”
– Louise Glück, Proofs & Theories: Essays on Poetry (via heteroglossia)
Dead-on balls accurate.
The reality of damage is shocking, a bullet to the heart.
Still I dance along this sinuous razor’s edge.
Still I play.
Still I linger.
Is it worth it either way?
For all the chaos in my head, today I am quiet. For how badly I want to tell you a story, the words won’t come. Ever so slightly detached from this seething mass, I lift my head and look at you. Beautiful, knotted monster heart. A mind woven with threads of soul and shot through with bolts of necessary madness. I’m still sunk in you, but I have my limbs, my self. I have my hands that can tease and coax, so with your clay I sculpt. Soon I’ll let my hands rest on the surface of this leviathan, watch with sweet wonderment as they slowly sink back in. I’ll hook my legs through and slowly pull myself closer in to you. I’ll press my forehead to this mercurial being of selves we swim in like a lover long lost and feel myself devoured. Welcome me home, darlings. We are Legion, for we are many, and stronger for it.
What the fuck, tangent. Stop creeping and go to bed.
She says her love is like a three state killing spree
this feels like a warning I should heed
but my pants are off
and there is only so much blood to go around