You may trod me in the very dirt but still, like dust, I’ll rise."
(Source: seethroughgrayeyes)
I remember thirteen years ago when Millie cried at the sight of the bugs crawling on the hospital walls of her room. They said the medicine made her hallucinate. Now thirteen years later I sit in a similar room watching you pick at your bed sheets. Your skin is ashy and blue. I wish the bruising on your hands was from the hand restraints not from the lack of blood circulating. You didn’t know who I was yet you still grabbed a hold of my hand. You’re still worried about the damn car that we got rid of. You keep talking about the kids and every fifteen minutes you start a new conversation. The conversation starts over because you don’t know who we are or how long we’ve been visiting. I massage whats left of your papery skin and kiss your forehead. You sure know how to fight like hell. But no one will blame you this time Grandpa. If your tired of fighting no one’s going to try to change your mind. Your mind doesn’t have to be your own prison.
Anais: No, you don't understand.
June: I don't understand? What don't I understand?
Anais: That I love you.
June: Love? You just want experience. You're a writer. You make love to whatever you need.
Henry and June (1990)
(Source: porbidadolor)
The days get shorter and the nights get cold.
I like the autumn but this place is getting old.
I pack up my belongings and I head for the coast.
It might not be a lot but I feel like I’m making the most.
The days get longer and the nights smell green.
I guess it’s not surprising but it’s spring and I should leave.
I like songs about drifters - books about the same.
They both seem to make me feel a little less insane.
Walked on off to another spot.
I still haven’t gotten anywhere that I want.
Did I want love? Did I need to know?
Why does it always feel like I’m caught in an undertow?
The moths beat themselves to death against the lights.
Adding their breeze to the summer nights.
Outside, water like air was great.
I didn’t know what I had that day.
Walk a little farther to another plan.
You said that you did, but you didn’t understand.
I know that starting over is not what life’s about.
But my thoughts were so loud I couldn’t hear my mouth.
My thoughts were so loud I couldn’t hear my mouth.
My thoughts were so loud.
“One day, as she began to bathe herself, a stranger lifted a tile from the roof and was breathless at the tremendous spectacle of her nudity. She saw his desolate eyes through the broken tiles and had no reaction of shame but rather one of alarm.
‘Be careful,’ she exclaimed. ‘You’ll fall.’
‘I just wanted to see you,’ the foreigner murmured.
‘Oh, all right,’ she said. ‘But be careful, those tiles are rotten.’
The stranger’s face had a pained expression of stupor and he seemed to be battling silently against his primary instincts so as not to break up the mirage. Remedios the Beauty thought that he was suffering from the fear that the tiles would break…
Then, while she was drying herself, the stranger begged her, with his eyes full of tears, to marry him. She answered him sincerely that she would never marry a man who was so simple that he had wasted almost an hour and even went without lunch just to see a woman taking a bath. Finally… the man… took two more tiles off in order to drop down into the bathroom.
‘It’s very high,’ she warned him in fright. ‘You’ll kill yourself!’
The rotten tiles broke with a noise of disaster and the man barely had time to let out a cry of terror as he cracked his skull and was killed outright on the cement floor. The foreigners who heard the noise in the dining room and hastened to remove the body noticed the suffocating odor of Remedios the Beauty on his skin. It was so deep in his body that the cracks in his skull did not give off blood but an amber-colored oil that was impregnated with that secret perfume, and then they understood that the smell of Remedios the Beauty kept on torturing men beyond death, right down to the dust of their bones.”
