PARABLE — Those thinkers in whom all stars move in cyclic orbits are not the most profound: whoever looks into himself as into vast space and carries galaxies in himself also knows how irregular all galaxies are; they lead into the chaos and labyrinth of existence.
On the day when it will be possible for woman to love not in her weakness but in her strength, not to escape herself but to find herself, not to abase herself but to assert herself—on that day love will become for her, as for man, a source of life and not of mortal danger.
(Source: freelyliveyourdays, via bitchesflocktome)
// A Childish Escape//
Think about camping in a tent, just a small tent, filled with pillows and blankets, in a beautiful place. There are lots of trees around your tent, redwoods, and they all grow to unprecedented heights, shooting up into space, so you can’t see where they end (or do they end at all?). And they surround the small clearing where your tent is, or maybe they’re real short but expansive and their limbs grow into all the negative space, filling it up, and they grow around your tent but not in a menacing way, more like they’re reaching out to give your tent a gentle hug. And maybe you have a dog there and the weather is perfect and the tent is cozy and you make the best breakfast on the camping stove.
Maybe there’s a path in the woods, or what looks like a path, but you’re unsure. You follow it and the woods open up to a big lake, surrounded by trees. You can sit on the rocky sand and enjoy the view, skip some rocks, feel the breeze, or you can lay on a mattress and float out onto the lake forever. The gentle wake puts you to sleep. And when you wake up, if it gets too warm, you can dip a hand or foot into the water. Or your whole body, because the waters aren’t cold or warm but perfectly in between, like bathwater after it sits for a while.
And at night from the lake you can see the stars better than you ever have in your life, because you’re in the middle of no where, maybe not even on earth. And there’s a meteor shower, and the stars keep falling and coming closer and closer to you. You open your mouth for the first time that day to giggle at yourself for jumping when you thought a star was going to hit you. and the planets are all lit up with beautiful pinks and oranges and greens. And the moon is full and bright but foggy, and bigger than you’ve ever seen it and it looks serene. And the best part, is that it’s all reflected in the lake, so you have two of these beautiful worlds before you. You row out into the lake in a small row boat with blue chipped paint, and the shore falls away, and you’re surrounded 360 degrees by stars and planets and when you push into the water with your oar, it swirls up the stars and they dance around like fireflies. And it feels like you’re floating and rowing through space. You can row over to the moon, take a drink from it with your hands. Or you can chase after falling stars and try to catch them, before they disappear into the water, or space.
// The Anxiety of a Dream//
It was the day of the wedding. Someone from my family (an aunt or uncle maybe) was getting married; we were about to meet the other family. The day was frantic, rushed, and full of anxiety, as wedding days always are, but there was also something dark following us all, creeping closer throughout the day. We were in a town made of tall stone Gothic structures, and one sort of castle in particular stood out, perhaps where the wedding was to take place.
We pushed away the darkness by rushing to salon after salon, getting our hair done for the wedding over and over again as if we forgot each time that our hair had already been done. Women got manicures in fluorescent lit salons but the shadow of that castle still crept into the salon windows.
So I left, and I went to the castle. It seemed as if the wedding were never going to happen, as if it were just going to sit as a point in time in the near future, and we would continue to get closer and closer to it but never reach it, like zeno’s paradox where if you go halfway from point a to point b, and then halfway from the new point a to point b, and so on and so forth, you would go on infinitely getting closer and closer without ever reaching point b. So I figured I should have plenty of time to explore.
I went inside and there was a long, mostly empty corridor with high ceilings and balconies all around up on a second floor that appeared to be inaccessible (there were no stairs to go up). In the middle of the corridor stood a column at about 4 or 3 feet, topped with the head of a man, short brown hair and a small mustache that matched the color of his hair so perfectly I thought maybe they’d both been painted on with the same brown. His head was so well-preserved that I wondered if it would begin to move or talk. On the other side of the column sat a man, crumpled over head in hands, long ash blonde hair fallen to cover his face, but I could hear sobs. I asked him “what’s wrong?”. He told me his lover, in the chamber down the stairs, had not been talking to him.
I was curious and walked down the stairs to the chamber, which turned out to be more of a locker room but still with the same old stone walls. In the corner I found his lover. His lover was a man with what now seems like quite a bizarre condition but at the time I thought little of it: he was in two pieces. Split vertically, all the way down, into two completely separate halves, yet still functioning. He was attached to some metal contraption, fully mechanical no electronics, so maybe that kept him alive. The contraption fixed him to the wall though, so he apparently could not leave that spot, ever. I wondered if his lover had made this contraption, or someone else in the house. We did not speak but he did a gesture when he saw me and I waved.
I went back up the stairs and the blonde man was pacing around the column. I asked him what he was doing and he told me about a monster of sorts that lived inside the walls. It was not corporeal, or visible, so I am still not certain of what it was, but when I put my hand to the stone as if to listen for it with my palm, I could feel its presence and I could tell it was quite big. The lights went dim and the head on the column began to bleed again where it had been severed, and the blonde man said that the beast was coming and begged for it to do no more harm. There was a stack of books on the floor and the blonde man was compelled to place a hand upon them, at which point we could hear the voice of the beast, or perhaps its ideas were transmitted to us, I’m not sure if there really was a voice.
The blonde man knew then that the beast was after his lover. He ran down the stairs in a panic, wailing, to save his lover, maybe to disassemble the machine and take him away from the castle.
But it was too late. The beast had severed the lover’s head - both halves. The blonde man screamed in agony and the dead lover’s two half heads grew a bit larger, just until they were slightly greater than the blonde man’s head. The blonde man ripped the halves from the contraption, ripping pieces of the head apart and further disfiguring it. He held the two halves, one under each arm, close to his breast laid on the floor and cried.
I thought about how this tragedy would put quite a damper on the wedding.
—
Things I didn’t realized I needed.
Just bought this for my favorite person for Christmas…yes, on December 29th.
(via exitpursuedbyclare)
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[Flash 10 is required to watch video]
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YOU DIDNT THINK I COULD FREESTYLE ON YOU, BOO?!
shawty go hard, concrete
homegirl lookin to fade
(Source: bluewafflecunt)
—Sometimes I’ll do something and I’ll think to myself, “that is so Raven.” And then other times I’ll do something and I’ll be like, “that was not very Raven.
When I was 18 I wanted to fuck on the floor and break shit. When I was 25 I wanted to fuck on the floor and break shit. When I was 35 I wanted to fuck on the floor and break shit. Now I’m 40 and I want to fuck on the floor and break shit.
set the world on fire.