People always seem to be searching for “the right person” or some sort of “true love”. You’re all wasting your time. Look for souls that you percieve as beautiful and don’t dwell on “right” or “wrong”, because those beings won’t wait around for you. Don’t search for things that you will never find, not because they don’t exist (thought I don’t believe they do), but because they will not put up with your indecision. What about all the people you pass on the street? Do you ever get the feeling that you could learn to love them if given the opportunity? Not every one of them, of course, but a few perhaps? It’s a shame to push perfectly lovely beings away because they do not fit your ideal of what should be “true love”.
Love freely and happily and peacefully and deeply.
Sometimes life makes me want to drop it all and give up.
But in the words of Bob Marley, “I’ve got to push on through”.
beautiful boy, you always make me smile.
let’s sit on the tracks and write words and laugh
pretty, ugly, profound, outdated, something different, overwhelmingly the same. this time let’s have open minds.
hear my voice under you
feel my pulse inside of you
call my name, I am you.
who made this nonsense?
a nice day for a drive?
I wish I understood how to act and what to say in social situations, but I don’t. I can’t make words appear when they aren’t there, and I have a tendency to suppress the ones that are bubbling up, trying to break through the surface. We were in the car for hours, but most of our conversations consisted of directions and apologies and cursing. All because I don’t know how to speak because I’m overcome with fear that I’ll say the wrong things or that no one will care to listen. And I did say a few things, but they were the wrong things to say at the wrong times and I should have kept them to myself, but I forgot to close my mouth before the words came pouring out. It’s sad, because it wasn’t as if I was sitting for hours with someone that I don’t like or want around. I spent my day with a lovely human being who I wish I knew what to say to, but as usual, I don’t.
Sometimes I watch the sky
Not for
s t a r s,
But rather for
s o u l s,
Floating freely
Searching for those that got away.
If I’m nimble enough
I catch them.
And if caught I make a wish.
I wish that they can see me
From the depths of despair
Because it’s so often that those souls
Are underestimated
And thrown away.
I see how much they have to give.
And if ever I happen to catch
A falling or shooting
s t a r,
I’ll send it back up towards the
Night sky accompanied by my
s o u l,
And hope that it will someday mingle
With the other good souls of the galaxy.
Everybody can use more love. Do not take offense if people are rude or unkind or seem like they are trying to hurt your feelings. You cannot know what is happening with them. Send them love no matter how they act. It will come back to you many times over as increased love in your life.
(Source: quote-book)
I keep picturing all these little kids playing some game in this big field of rye and all. Thousands of little kids, and nobody’s around - nobody big, I mean - except me. And I’m standing on the edge of some crazy cliff. What I have to do, I have to catch everybody if they start to go over the cliff - I mean if they’re running and they don’t look where they’re going I have to come out from somewhere and catch them. That’s all I’d do all day. I’d just be the catcher in the rye and all. I know it’s crazy, but that’s the only thing I’d really like to be.
(Source: notsomeholylight)
There’s a Jane Austen-ish quality to online social life. The written word gains unmatched power and inarguable primacy. Personal relationships now, to a much greater degree than, say, 30 years ago, hinge on our ability to write — if not necessarily well, in a formal, Strunk and White manner, then at least effectively. This change makes us not disconnected so much as it makes us archaic. Austen’s characters easily expressed extreme emotion in long letters and then in person sat twitchily near one another, paralyzed with manners.
Though our letters are not delivered by servants or horse-drawn carriages, our relationships once again live and die in the texts with which we barter with each other. The internet age unavoidably resembles the 19th century novel’s depiction of human intimacy, as so many of us pour passionate confessions into emails, messages, and chat boxes. Our physical reactions when together are often disguises for what we could so candidly admit in writing.
- Helena Fitzgerald, “Kissing Is Not the Answer,” The New Inquiry Magazine, No. 3: Arguing the Web
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we’re numbers and trees and ink on paper, my dear.
someone chase me. make it worth it.
tell me that the world isn’t round and that you’ve got something to give me.
and then give me something to think about.
“I am the flaky fuckup.”
I bet I taste sour. Care to confirm?
