She feels so tired, as if she went to the end of her life and got back here. She sits here now, pale face, damaged mind, trying to cancel her life.
Life is what you make it. If you make it a burden then you better get strong so as to be able to carry it.
It never gives you easy answers.
Everything is as ephemeral as a fad.
December 2013
by Margarita Georgiadis
Little mooncalves crawl on the cold, cracked ground. They try to avoid what comes after death.
The rain melts, becomes one with the puddles.
It’s here. It’s right here. The chaos.
We’re howling for light, for salvation. How insane!
We lock ourselves in a dark room. We throw the key through the window and condemn ourselves to eternal waiting. We’re waiting for someone to find that key, to come and save us. And the truth is – no one is bound to do it. There’s no ‘must’ in all this. They’ll just walk, and walk, and walk, and never stop. You’ll start screaming. And no one will hear. Because the window in your room is closed. Why the hell did you lock yourself there?! But when you start smothering in your own air, you’ll open it. And you’ll pray and pray for somebody, anybody to hear the last of you…the very last of your mind…of your sanity.
It’s in human nature, I guess. The need of light, the need to hope. Imagination is everything – creates all that the soul craves for…just because it doesn’t exist…just because it can’t be achieved.
I want to wander and find my freedom again. Feel my freedom. I always had it and now when something is taking it away from me I feel trapped.
‘There’s nothing worse than an uninspired artist,’ he told me once. Live off. Live by. Live through.
‘You are over so many things,’ he declared.
‘I don’t know what am I over and who is lying under me, but this has nothing to do with pride,’ I responded. He laughed because he knew were the same.
November 2013
Artists are not born to be understood. They are born to make other people understand.
Charles Bukowski, c.1981, photo by Mark Hanauer
All my bitter kisses, I said goodbye a long time ago.
Or maybe I never said hello.
Our footprints still lay in the snow.
source: weheartit
His cigarette slipped off his hand and fell on the wet ground beneath him. His legs motionless, his crystal green eyes collecting all the shadows that the rainy day casted upon his memories, those crystal green eyes were staring into someone’s infinity. He thought about how hard it was for him to dive into his imagination lately. Everything seemed too real, too obvious.
He had always dreamt of avoiding the current. There were things he could not bear and dreams he knew he shouldn’t dream. Some things are better left unknown, some prayers are better left unanswered and some vows are better left untaken. A flash of light, a sun ray touched his cheek.
He felt like he was always given only one chance. And he never failed to blow it.
by Joseph Gordon Levitt
You are that drop in the ocean of my thoughts that chases the waves all the way to the shore of my reality and makes them wash away all the unhappiness.
by Michele Rossi
twists + turns 