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D.W. Winnicott

love elizabeth s.

— David Foster Wallace

— via whoriyat

— Juansen Dizon

My made-up thoughts dominate reality.

They try to convince me reality is not a social construct. Rather everything I imagine it to be.

- Vladimir Nabokov

Icarus should have waited for nightfall, the Moon would have never let him go.

I AM 17. I HAVE A LOT TO SAY.

by Jackson Holbert

My mother was around all the time back then, always walking in and out of rooms carrying stacks of  laptop computers. She spent most of  her daylight hours blowing dust out of circuits, fans, motherboards, daughterboards. Sometimes her little canister would die and she’d have to use her mouth. My father was gone all day every day getting repetitive stress injuries at the newspaper. He was a journalist and everyone hated him, even his friends. Nothing really happened during my entire childhood so he ended up spending most days shooting paper footballs through a miniature goal post he kept in the locked drawer of  his desk. He was rarely kind. And in the few, short instances he was, it still didn’t seem like it. Something about his mouth made everything he did seem either sinister or inept. He was completely inscrutable except for a period in the spring of 2004, when he was just sad. I was young that year and my sister was older. She came home from college for the whole summer of 2005. I was 14. She told me not to worry about other people, not to worry about war, not to worry about a thing. That was the greatest summer of my short life. I had no friends. Oh I had people I talked to at school but once summer hit it was like every school bus had crashed headfirst into a wall except the one that was carrying me and my silver trumpet. I had that tall kind of  joy that you can only feel when your bones still have another few inches left in them. My sister and I would watch three movies a day and never go to the lake. Everybody says it seems like summer never ends until it does. But that’s a lie. I knew so little back then but the one thing I did know was that all my friends were coming back and I would once more join them in the hallways, in the classrooms, once more join them for hours after school in the far part of  the parking lot and would continue to do so until I turned 16 and got a job cutting my fingers on the cheese grater at the Pizza Factory. After that everything was all work work work go home Jeremy get your feet off the sofa  Jeremy work work math homework band-aids and on a good day a little trumpet and on the best days all trumpet. I wanted my life to be about music but in the end it was about getting B’s in subjects such as Spanish. I don’t know, sometimes it feels like those summers really did never end, they went on forever and just got progressively worse. We like to pretend that one day we just walk into our adulthood like a congressman walking into the ocean, but we all know that’s not true. What really happens is we walk into the same building day after day, but every night some crew comes in and replaces something little — a lamp housing, the chair of a conference table — until nothing is the same, until the building is not as we remembered it at all, until the building is stronger, up to code but a lot less fun, and the lighting, the lighting is fluorescent and obscene.

isabotagemyself on tiktok / unknown / fruiteas on instagram / unknown / unknown / strangers - ethel cain

[this freedom isn’t free]

— Nitya Prakash

Dated my Birthday!!!

— Fyodor Dostoevsky; Letter to his brother 9th August 1838

thank you for always being there for us ♡ happy 9 years bangtan ♡ (cr. in source)

deaf republic, ilya kaminsky // sun bleached flies, ethel cain // mercy, yves olade // hannibal // foghorn, victoria chang // ? // it chooses you, miranda july

— Susan Jeffers

“I want to infect you with the tremendous excitement of living, because I believe that you have the strength to bear it.”

— Tennessee Williams, The Selected Letters: 1920-1945

I think I was just born with something dark and ugly inside of me. Always waiting to be found out.

planetarium - adrienne rich/@twoheadedfawnn/ugly, bitter, and true - suzanne rivecca/a burning hill - mitski/a hora da estrela- clarice lispector/ @100493503004422/sharp objects - gillian flynn

You can't truly call yourself peaceful unless you are capable of great violence.

If you are not capable of violence you're not peaceful, you're harmless.

Important distinction

Ada Limón, from "To the Busted Among Us", Sharks in the Rivers

Bianca Stone, from The Möbius Strip Club of Grief; “The Fall”

[Text ID: “What to do with this mind? / Throw everything / into the fire and scream”]