In the air was …

September 6, 2013 § Leave a comment

In the air was the strong smell of masculinity which creates the ideal medium for me to exist in.

from The Journals of Sylvia Plath 1950-1962, p.14


and fuck them

September 3, 2013 § Leave a comment

Anything overly formal; too formulaic — fuck that.

Anything you’ve said before or repeated enough that it is only repetition — it won’t ring right, will be empty — fuck that, too. Answer an old question with thought before basic repetition, because the old answer may surely no longer fit.

Fuck the appropriate and the polite, to follow on from the first point.

Fuck the overly sentimental, where it makes you want to run away or maybe vomit.

Learn a new language and let the last one wait ’til you’ve forgotten a few habits and will use it a little more freely, afresh.


September 3, 2013 § Leave a comment

Somehow, it seemed, that the boy — who did not yet see himself a man — had found a sort of way outside of things, and he tried to get there through a kind of madness and via Perec.

September 3, 2013 § Leave a comment

let’s go let’s get away and stop living by this set of rules under these people in this space moving between this and that place and nowhere else. We can be free we can be free we can be free

too many commas I hate

September 2, 2013 § Leave a comment

All today is tears that do not fall, and hurt eyes. Pain learnt and learnt and learnt and sown so deep and true, no movement may be without it and even each movement is made because of it, the synapse sparking, the brain messaging out, and sent by it.

September 2, 2013 § Leave a comment

all the best of my self, I would give you

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