❝ She felt as if she were standing on the edge of a precipice with her hair blown back; she was about to grasp something that just evaded her. There must be another life, here and now, she repeated. This is too short, too broken. We know nothing, even about ourselves. ❞

- Virginia Woolf (The Years)

❝ Do not ask your children
to strive for extraordinary lives.
Such striving may seem admirable,
but it is the way of foolishness.
Help them instead to find the wonder
and the marvel of an ordinary life.
Show them the joy of tasting
tomatoes, apples and pears.
Show them how to cry
when pets and people die.
Show them the infinite pleasure
in the touch of a hand.
And make the ordinary come alive for them.
The extraordinary will take care of itself. ❞

- William Martin (via iamcharliesangel)

❝ The infinite vibratory levels, the dimensions of interconnectedness are without end. There is nothing independent. ❞

- Alex Grey (via iamcharliesangel)

❝ I can tell already you think I’m the dragon,
                  that would be so like me, but I’m not. I’m not the dragon.
I’m not the princess either.
                                Who am I? I’m just a writer. I write things down.
I walk through your dreams and invent the future. Sure,
              I sink the boat of love, but that comes later. And yes, I swallow
          glass, but that comes later.
                                                          And the part where I push you
flush against the wall and every part of your body rubs against the bricks,
              shut up
I’m getting to it.
                                     For a while I thought I was the dragon.
I guess I can tell you that now. And, for a while, I thought I was
                                                                                                       the princess,
cotton candy pink, sitting there in my room, in the tower of the castle,
          young and beautiful and in love and waiting for you with
confidence
          but the princess looks into her mirror and only sees the princess,
while I’m out here, slogging through the mud, breathing fire,
                                                                      and getting stabbed to death.
                                        Okay, so I’m the dragon. Bid deal.
          You still get to be the hero. ❞

- Richard Siken, “Litany In Which Certain Things Are Crossed Out”   (via wordsnquotes)

Dew-drinker, opium-eater,
I have seen your mouth transfigured
By the fragments of ancient fevers.

It was a wild, strange sound.

Honey-seeker, sun-worshipper,
I have heard the wind in white cedars
And black poplars.

It was the colour of wet narcissus.

River-walker, crocus-gatherer,
I have tasted the petals of acanthus
And Thessalian iris.

They were but circles of salt.

- Bethany van Rijswijk, from ‘Opium-eater’ 
(via desanguinea)

❝ Vodka so strong I have to hold my nose
to swallow to get it down and even then it is like
a lightning storm in my stomach. There is music
playing loudly and they are chanting
my name as I take three shots, no pause.
It’s rushing down my throat hot and quick,
and after, I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand,
the skin shining like I’ve kissed myself.
The only way to drink it is to convince yourself
that you need it. It’s late but this is what our bodies
are made for, vessels for the music that vibrates
its way through our veins like escape. Surprise
we are throwing up our dinner in the yard
surprise he is kissing you like he’s starving
surprise I didn’t think I would mind. Our
legs unforgivable things in our dresses, mouths
devastating in the glaring summer night. Our hips,
gleaming, wild things. We feel safest in the backseat
of the car because we don’t know where it’s going. ❞

- Kristina Haynes, “Backwash” (via fleurishes)

❝ November — with uncanny witchery in its changed trees. With murky red sunsets flaming in smoky crimson behind the westering hills. With dear days when the austere woods were beautiful and gracious in a dignified serenity of folded hands and closed eyes — days full of fine, pale sunshine that sifted through the late, leafless gold of the juniper-trees and glimmered among the grey beeches, lighting up evergreen banks of moss and washing the colonnades of the pines. Days with a high-sprung sky of flawless turquoise. Days when an exquisite melancholy seemed to hang over the landscape and dream about the lake. But days, too, of the wild blackness of great autumn storms, followed by dank, wet, streaming nights when there was witch-laughter in the pines and fitful moans among the mainland trees. ❞

- The Blue Castle, L. M. Montgomery (via strangerains)

engraven:

discovering virginia | 10.18.14

music my faith my face dogs! :D