In order to understand, I destroyed myself.
this sounds like such a clique statement
but to think of it as something with delibiration
the destruction is rarely concious
Fernando Pessoa (via fagnificient)
Quotes
the expanse of love, is again, and again, and again, the opening, and then the traversing over, of the void.
a window is open, outside, fire. A lure. A guidepost.
Do it as often as possible, until it is lit up, light up. Be calm, calm as possible, when it gives you darkness, when it spits once again the void back at you.
You knew, you were hallow, empty, you purged, you approached, and there, there you got that naked other, so near your tongue, so inside your eyes, and backwards. Want. Wanting. Ignite. Ignition.
At rare glimpses we have it.
Move closer. More Often.
the other side of intensity is terror
again, to remember that beauty is not something worn on the surface, beauty is……as Rilke also speaks of it…… a terror. As we approach it, time and time again, giving ourselves, and our minds, bodies, loves, over in a creativity, which is not easy to approach; we might, we do; manage to create something, which lifts us, for a moment, beyond the banality, the consumption, the dredge and the dreg and the drawn out similarities………
we have to, if called to, choose this, over all else
similarities
I stare into your eyes like I stare into the void the void is my eyes the void is your eyes the void is the distance between us, which we transgress.
it all seems half open, broken, cut away, dirty and hollow.
but somewhere tucked against the edges of cracked buildings
it is taking place
I like what I see to be real, or to be my idea of what is real
john cage
All resistance is a rupture with what is. And every rupture begins, for those engaged in it, through a rupture with oneself.
alan badiou
you speak, out, the word beauty, from your lips as substance
and substance the experience, experience the liftwhen you say you call the void beautiful
you call it’s force into your mouthyou sing its song
you taste it, in all its ingoing heaving,terror.
rename.
there are those moments when you are not there, when there is nothing at all to lift you, to elevate you, move you, and you turn, inward; sour or outward, grasping and fumbling, perhaps it is better to wallow for a moment in the soft misery, biding your time patiently, in wait of the next chord, the next light, the next sublime human interaction, which will sweep you into it with all of its force. Just wait. And remember.
TESS TENNESSEE MILLER 