"Reality exists in the human mind, and nowhere else."
—George Orwell, 1984 (via viage)
"Distorted realities have always been my cup of tea."
—Virginia Woolf, Selected Diaries (via xesnu)

(Source: fuckyeahvirginiawoolf, via vorstein)


Page 127 from Michael Gira’s Consumer.


the carnage in my mind
has no history
the scars on my skin
tell no stories
the darkness within
is a guilty pleasure
and the demons i bind
begin to fester

(via agnosic-deactivated20130807)

drifting: Rest. less.


We are awake and then we are asleep, and it works like that everyday, every day. Moments all at once separate before they can cohesively fall back into place, often with miss-matched ends. A part of my mind falls as the other begins to rise, like an early bird catching the spring in its talons. I…

(Source: bluestown)

Big Black Sunshine: Hush (I)



Were you a girl?
Were you a boy?
I’ll never know
They’ll never tell
Dry dark eyes dry
You will see my face
For the first time
I will open your eyes
As you have opened mine

I know the irony
Killed by the very hands
That gave you life

Hush, hush child hush
Soon I will begin
To give love again
You will see the light of day
Feel the calmness of night soothe
I will see you soon
In the afterglow

You are still alive
The warmth inside me
Protecting my form in the coldest days
You will never die
As long as I’m alive
As long as my soul is awake

"I was born without a skin. I dreamed once that I stood naked in a garden and that it was carefully and neatly peeled, like a fruit. Not an inch of skin left on my body. It was all gently pulled off, all of it, and then I was told to walk, to live, to run. I walked slowly at first, and the garden was very soft, and I felt the softness of the garden so acutely, not on the surface of my body, but all through it, the soft warm air and the perfumes penetrated me like needles through every open bleeding pore. All the pores open and breathing the softness, the warmth, and the smells. The whole body invaded, penetrated, responding, every tiny cell and pore active and breathing and trembling and enjoying. I shrieked with pain. I ran. And as I ran the wind lashed me, and then the voices of people like whips on me. Being touched! Do you know what it is to be touched by a human being!"
—Anais Nin, House of Incest  (via sacraments)

(Source: showstudio, via blaqmagic)

Big Black Sunshine: Epiphany


Along the darkest cedar,
I reached for the raven
(Desperate for his darkness, helpless
Gestures, thoughtless)
But he was
Too far
Down the branch
Too close
To the edge
And I fell so very far,far
Too near the pyre

But you were there
Alabaster arms, marble hands
Reaching for my limbs which were
Truly bones

Awful, bleached things
You were there, but not to
Catch me, no you only wanted
To touch my flesh, my strange
Shadow like shape
Just once
Before I was impaled and ablaze
That is when I knew you
Were never meant to save me
But to be a witness to my fall
To my sacrificial ending


Whispers of Immortality by T.S. Eliot