however vast the darkness, we must supply our own light

"you look like christopher robin with that bandaid on your knee." -my dad
my work here is done. i'll see you at the ball, one day again

it's ringing you to hell

because that isn't who you are. i read things out loud and it sounds like they affect me so much and i'm getting extremely emotional about them but it's only because i get so tired after reading a few words. by tired i mean out of breath. since i'm a baby and everything.and i have to read everything out loud.

les marionnettes

today i came home and drank hot drinks and put on my dad's red coat and went to sleep. on a side note in rudolph the movie when yukon cornelius falls off the edge of the cliff with the abomidable snow monster i always think of when Gandalf falls off the edge of that stone thing with that big dragon. i should probably stop relating everything to lotr. also why are there girls that are fans of "women should not have rights" on facebook? moreover, why do things like this exist? the world may never know

midnight surrounds you and the moonlight makes you proud

sentence structure

"It doesn't matter to me where you go."

try to remember always

i love the word "her" so much. it's so intimate.
why is everyone so happy without me? wait up guys

myriad harbour

when we met and you didnt know anything about me and you asked if i was an artist

ne me quitte pas

amelie

"Instead, she cultivates a taste for small pleasures: dipping her hand into sacks of grain, cracking creme brulee with a teaspoon, and skipping stones at St. Martin's Canal."
This movie frustrates me to no end.
but i do love it

i'm nervous

do you ever get like phantom limb but with people?
wahoo
i do

you're lost!

Coyote's Ode to Nightingale

At dusk the coyote entered the forest.
He heard the nightingale sing from atop a tree.
The night songstress' trills led the trickster
Up the trunk and into the canopy.
Just as he reached her branch,
He fell into the brush below and broke his knee.
He hopped and cried back to his home.
She gathered straw, grass, and twine
And entered his burrow to nest and mend his wound.
feel the waltz
was it a vision, or a waking dream? Fled is that music - do i wake or sleep?
-thomas macker


i think this story and the images in it are beautiful. i'm not even entirely sure thomas macker is the one who wrote it, i think he did though.
either way, enjoy it

edit:

electro forest. thanks for stickin around

summertime clothes

don't cool off
i like your warmth

and you will go to mykonos

i don't think anyone really likes me that much.

edit: i remembered things today. infinite: watching you play with your pretty hands and look at them when you get sad. finite: falling asleep with you and waking up with red words on my arms and my shirt. i realized what nice things these are.

gg

"How did animals in the snow tipped pines, I find

Hatching from the seed of your thin mind, all night?"

gggGGGGGGGGGGG

i picked out photos for this post and it shouldn't matter but i picked them out of my old archives of photos and so they weren't easy to find and it didn't work uploading them. they are kind i wish you could see them.

i'm sleepy

the unicorns

1: I'm not a fan of yours anymore
2: Yes you are
1: No I'm not
2:Yes you are
1: No I'm not
2: Yes you are
1: But you broke my fragile heart
2: No I didn't
1: Yes you did
2: No I didn't
1: Yes you did
2: No I didn't
1: I hate you
2: I hate you too
1: I hate you
peter rabbit prevails
edit:
"if you're killed, i'll be free. if i'm killed it really doesn't matter. if we both die, good riddance!"

as your friend died he asked about a living pyramid but such a thing does not exist

sommelier, irenic, flotsam, pointless nostalgic.

i want to know who wrote that and never stop hugging them and feeling their breathing on me but then again i want to do that to most people. time travel.

scallopped

there is something about georgia font that comforts me, georgia and times new roman. i feel like it's used so often and is considered very commonplace. i like that. i miss to build a fire by jack london. i love that story. i missed it so i typed the title in on google so i could read it, since it's just a short story, and i clicked on one of the links and the entire thing is in georgia. the first copy i read was in times new roman. so i'm comforted, i'm comforted on this wool with my tea and snowflake roll, reading jack london and being proud of my nostalgia. indentations.

edit: enchanté

edit pt. 2: john napoline gave me a call and we talked about jack london. what a small world.

we'll stay

even when we know that we don't know what we have until it is gone we still don't follow this phrase. i don't really think it is quite possible of a phrase to follow, and i don't necessarily think that we don't appreciate things fully, i think it is natural to long for something --or someone-- again. i think people have this idea that they never loved something in the first place and then realized the extent of it after that thing is gone but i don't think that is true. case in point, when i am eating cake, i enjoy the cake. i mean i LOVE eating cake. i eat cake and am so fucking happy about it. and then eventually the cake is gone and that's fine. and the next day or week or month i see a picture of one or i see cakes in a film and i want cakes again. and i think "i would give anything for a cake right now." and sometimes i think of when i last had a cake and wish i had that moment again. but there will be more cakes, and there will be more enjoyment.

stardust memories. we have those.

we have memories.

sweet heart bitter heart

After Apple-Picking, by Robert Frost
sweet heart bitter heart
My long two-pointed ladder's sticking through a tree
Toward heaven still,
And there's a barrel that I didn't fill
Beside it, and there may be two or three
Apples I didn't pick upon some bough.
But I am done with apple-picking now.
Essence of winter sleep is on the night,
The scent of apples: I am drowsing off.
I cannot rub the strangeness from my sight
I got from looking through a pane of glass
I skimmed this morning from the drinking trough
And held against the world of hoary grass.
It melted, and I let it fall and break.
But I was well
Upon my way to sleep before it fell,
And I could tell
What form my dreaming was about to take.
Magnified apples appear and disappear,
Stem end and blossom end,
And every fleck of russet showing clear.
My instep arch not only keeps the ache,
It keeps the pressure of a ladder-round.
I feel the ladder sway as the boughs bend.

And I keep hearing from the cellar bin
The rumbling sound
Of load on load of apples coming in.
For I have had too much of apple-picking: I am overtired
Of the great harvest I myself desired.
There were ten thousand thousand fruit to touch,
Cherish in hand, lift down, and not let fall.
For all
That struck the earth,
No matter if not bruised or spiked with stubble,
Went surely to the cider-apple heap
As of no worth.
One can see what will trouble
This sleep of mine, whatever sleep it is.
Were he not gone,
The woodchuck could say whether it's like his
Long sleep, as I describe its coming on,
Or just some human sleep.

fireworks

you're only what i see sometimes

eyes

let nothing be lost upon you. be always searching for new sensations. be afraid of nothing.

i'm sad.
so many people are gone from me. i used to take pictures with you. i used to go on walks with you. i used to wrestle with you. i threw your watch down on the ground.
we used to drink tea.

"I can't fight any longer."

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Virginia_Woolf#Suicide

look weve had similar stiches

look we have similar frowns

do the elderly couples still kiss and hug and grab their big wrinkly skin so tough wrinkly wrink wrink wrinkly rough

did you see the words

well

I AM GOING TO BED

turtlenecks

i just keep shivering

THANK YOU

i just dont understand anyone half as well as i should. i'm very sad.
it's not my fault.
it's not my fault.

neck:
thanks for holding my head and chin up when i need it most. even if my head is filled with the unnecessary or the ridiculous, you keep it up anyway. and when it's down, it always comes up again, thanks to you. i appreciate it. the collarbones are a nice touch.

feet:

for walking me places.

hands, wrists, arms:

hands for writing and being pretty and dealing with my excessive time spent on the computer typing. wrists for not breaking when you should have while i ski or write too much. arms: could you be less cold in the fall and winter and all the time in general? other than this, thank you for being there to hug people, animals and myself when i need it, or other need it. thank you. thank you. thank you.

knees, legs:

for wearing socks and tights and pants. and tolerating it. i keep you as warm as i can. sorry if i complain that you aren't little enough. you are good the way you are. also sorry i make lists on you all the time, you are conveniently positioned. knees, thank you for all the bruises that earned me those embarrassing nicknames when i was young. thank you.

eyes: sorry that i wear makeup on you occasionally. i never wear very much at all. you are a nice green. the pupils are a little overbearing. but you reflect my desire for open-mindedness, even if on occasion i lack that. thank you for seeing films and the sky and the stars. thank you.

hair:

you are pretty. for drying nicely, and tolerating the few years that i straightened you often. i'm sorry for that. i will never go back. thank you for keeping my head warm and being cute.

lips:

for speaking even when i sometimes shouldnt; i am trying not to regret it as much. and for smiling, even when i sometimes don't want to. you can't help it. i love you. thank you.

i love you.

Dad: Now ems where do the teabags go? Not in the sink. in the trash.

Me: I don't even have a teabag.

Dad: Yeah, now you don't. It's probably in the sink.

bones and
The count of monte cristo is on my reading list, officially. if it's good enough for jean-dominique bauby, that means it must be important. how he inspires me so.

red

coup de grâce.

i'm going to lay on top of my cold bed in the dark and listen to myself breathe until i fall asleep. and it will be wonderful. and i will miss you. and i miss you.

naked as we came

drawing + watching films

you can contact me through my attorney, you can find me outside on a gurney

Why do people make things more difficult than they have to be? I own hunter green sparkly tights. I mean after that happened i thought my life was beautiful forever. If something bad happened well the tights made it better. why cant all my problems be solved by those tights? that and the pretty underwear i own. i am a forest nymph. i realized that there are bits of my life that are unfortunate and not the greatest. and they don't necessarily make me happy anymore or if they never did. and that's okay. because i tend to dwell on the bad things, i get sort of lost on those things and i forget about the nicest things. like home, and what it means to be a friend.

i don't want you!

BANSHEE BEAT! i gave strength to you!

bones bones bones bones bones bones bone bones bones bones bones bones bones bones bones bones bones bones bones bones bones bones bones bones bones bones bones bones bones bones bones bones bones BONES BONES BONES BONES BONES BONES BONES BONES BONES BONES BONES BONES BONES BONES BONES BONES BONES BONES BONES NONESBN BOTNSNE BONES TOSNGNO SBONT SOGT VONTES BONES TNONVE S NOVENSN NONE OF IT

oh you had it but oh no you lost it

i decided that all i am going to do is video interview people in black and white. so come over

listening to vampire weekend, wearing red socks, going to celia's.

kneel in the rosebeds

vodka

edit:: that first photo is the most beautiful thing i've ever seen

horchata

Here comes the feeling you thought you'd forgotten.

through the rough wooden doors of my dreams

beaucoup d'etoiles. ive gone too far with the glitter in my boissons. every time. i simply can't resist the sparkle. give me your number and i will sing la vie en rose to you until you fall asleep.

sweet dreamss s s

secret electricity

edit: i just stubbornly chewed a tiny star thinking it was the waxy skin of a popcorn kernel. sigh.