To update us, maybe like Leo and Kate in Titanic, you can sprawl naked on my couch and I’ll sit with my Macbook open, typing away — occasionally looking up, tongue wedged between my teeth in focus — capturing your essence, your silhouette, your humour, your jawline. I’d paint us into Microsoft Word, everything you make me feel and think and then simply slap it up onto a blog where it will be consumed within minutes. Where no one will care about the complex nature of what I feel, beyond me — and maybe you?

Sometimes I wonder — is this too inward? Have I stopped looking outside, searching for the beauty of the world because I’m lost in you? I want to study you and nothing else. I want to research you like a historical event or a scientific anomaly. Who cares what aspect of quantum mechanics is being uncovered today — I want to know what you think about comic book movies. I want to capture the way your hands move. I want to decipher your voice. I have no power beyond expression, which of course, you now control.
Oh, I’ve gained so much because of you — but I have also lost, don’t you see? Throughout time and history and art and stories, the creator will always lose.

I’ve had my taste of the darkness

And spat it out in disgust

After my realisation of ‘the horror’.

I got lost in fog and met a deity,

Consumed by ivory.

The world my Marlot, I the Harlequin.

Manipulated by the elusive voice.

I’ve walked into the jungle

And searched for diamonds,

Fighting dirty, for diamonds in the rough -

But to no avail.

I walked out of the jungle,

With naught but mortality and fear.

The consuming, shrouding, distorting fear

Found in experience.

Knowledge comes at a price,

But is that the price of sanity?

"The smell of her hair, the taste of her mouth, the feeling of her skin seemed to have got inside him, or into the air all around him. She had become a physical necessity."  - 1984, George Orwell

k-a-t-i-e-:

“In 1981 I happened to see Joe Strummer – he was the singer for the punk rock band The Clash – on the tube. I saw him sitting on the other side of the seat, but I thought he was too private – he might get too angry – but I was trying to be brave, I went up to him and asked him ‘may I take a picture of you.’ he smiled and said ‘yes’, and I clicked several shots. 

Just before he got off the train he said to me, ‘You should take photos of whatever you want. That’s punk.’ ” 

 Herbie Yamaguchi

youmightfindyourself:

People are taking the piss out of you everyday. They butt into your life, take a cheap shot at you and then disappear. They leer at you from tall buildings and make you feel small. They make flippant comments from buses that imply you’re not sexy enough and that all the fun is happening somewhere else. They are on TV making your girlfriend feel inadequate. They have access to the most sophisticated technology the world has ever seen and they bully you with it. They are The Advertisers and they are laughing at you.

You, however, are forbidden to touch them. Trademarks, intellectual property rights and copyright law mean advertisers can say what they like wherever they like with total impunity.

Fuck that. Any advert in a public space that gives you no choice whether you see it or not is yours. It’s yours to take, re-arrange and re-use. You can do whatever you like with it. Asking for permission is like asking to keep a rock someone just threw at your head.

You owe the companies nothing. Less than nothing, you especially don’t owe them any courtesy. They owe you. They have re-arranged the world to put themselves in front of you. They never asked for your permission, don’t even start asking for theirs.

Do you ever stop and wonder why we all feel the need to express our every thought and feeling? Why just thinking or feeling is not enough and that we have this irrepressible need to tell people. I’m not just talking about the greatest love songs or Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar but the more mundane things, girls whining about guys on Facebook and tweets about how your mother’s roast potatoes are the dog’s bollocks.

Why are we all screaming Taylor Swift lyrics in the mirror instead of sitting and just feeling?

I know a lot of people are looking for validation, are asking for confirmation that others have felt like this and are feeling like this and they’re not alone. But why are we so frightened of being alone? 

I think that speaking about and showing our feelings is just another way to escape them. If you’re concentrating on how to express how you are feeling as opposed to just feeling it then you’re not really feeling it at all. All these things - writing, dancing, crying down the phone, blogging, self harm, buying clothes with quotes on the front are not simply a form of expression but a form of escapism. 

Why are we all so frightened to feel anything?

"We read that the young women of Miletus were seized with such frenzy that they hanged themselves in various parts of the city. No remedy could be found for this plague. Edicts were passed forbidding this practice and threatening dire punishment, but these measures were ignored. What more horrible death could be devised than the one they meted out to them- selves? They were kept under guard, but even in their confinement, their spirit found a way out. Finally, it was decreed that whoever killed herself would be dragged naked through the middle of the forum in broad daylight. This penalty alone deterred them, for they did not wish to be seen naked, even in death. What incredible and laudable modesty!"  - The Education of a Christian Woman: a sixteenth century manual - Juan Luis Vives, 1523 (via hailofmullets)

The trust I so crave
lives within your star-struck soul.
I can smell it on your breath when you talk;
it taunts me, tears me
because it will never be mine
to break.

Sleepy eyes,
wake up and see the day.
Smell the roses,
touch the sunbeams,
frolic in the freshly fallen snow.
Today will only happen once, so
greet it, treat it
like it’s your last.