Leaving is not enough. You must stay gone. Train your heart like a dog. Change the locks even on the house he’s never visited. You lucky, lucky girl. You have an apartment just your size. A bathtub full of tea. A heart the size of Arizona, but not nearly so arid. Don’t wish away your cracked past, your crooked toes, your problems are papier mache puppets you made or bought because the vendor at the market was so compelling you just had to have them. You had to have him. And you did. And now you pull down the bridge between your houses, you make him call before he visits, you take a lover for granted, you take a lover who looks at you like maybe you are magic. Make the first bottle you consume in this place a relic. Place it on whatever altar you fashion with a knife and five cranberries. Don’t lose too much weight. Stupid girls are always trying to disappear as revenge. And you are not stupid. You loved a man with more hands than a parade of beggars, and here you stand. Heart like a four-poster bed. Heart like a canvas. Heart leaking something so strong they can smell it in the street.
Frida Kahlo (via thatkindofwoman)
The “neutral” and panoptic eye of Google itself becomes the camera, and under these conditions, the photographer’s task becomes curatorial.Teju Cole (via magnificentruin)
Don’t tell me you don’t wish to fight; for the moment you tell me that, you are already fighting: nor that you don’t know which side to join; for while you are saying that, you have already joined a side: nor that you wish to remain neutral; for while you are thinking to be so, you are so no longer: nor that you want to be indifferent; for I will laugh at you, because on pronouncing that word you have chosen your party. Don’t tire yourself in seeking a place of security against the chances of the war, for you tire yourself in vain; that war is extended as far as space, and prolonged through all time.
Juan Donoso Cortés, Essays on Catholicism, Liberalism and Socialism (via zerogate)
…throw roses into the abyss and say: ‘here is my thanks to the monster who didn’t succeed in swallowing me alive.’Friedrich Nietzsche (via thatkindofwoman)
Every so often a disappearance is in order. A vanishing. A checking out. An indeterminate period of unavailability. Each person, each sane person, maintains a refuge, or series of refuges, for this purpose. A place, or places, where they can, figuratively if not literally, suspend their membership in the human race.
John A. Murray (via creatingaquietmind)
