Oh Danikova


waking up to wake up someday


Respect movements, flee schools.
—Jean Cocteau II “De la Ligne” in La Difficulté d’Etre (1947)

(Source: thewriterscaravan)

the first time we kissed
a tornado blew its way through Kansas
and a small town in Arizona fell to its knees
at the sight of a forest fire
we told ourselves not to mourn
that maybe we were the creation borne
from the destruction
we’d learnt that there’s no such thing
as beauty in the breakdown
but we fell into each other
like a jetplane with a loose wing
I held onto you so desperately
that five months later the nail marks on your forearms
still spelt my name it looked like someone
had pressed cigarette butts to your skin
but it was only me and it was only you
and somehow we ruined everything but each other
if we were ever sorry for any of it
I don’t remember
our bodies marked like graves
with each other’s mouths
it was all so beautiful
even when it went up in flames
see, because even when I hated you
I still wanted to touch you
and when we touched, baby
somewhere across the city a truck flipped off the road
and the electric went down
just for half a second, the time it took
for your hands to touch my hips
and turn my entire body into a lit match
for a solid month, we were nothing but hungry teeth
nothing but red marks and swollen lips
we were the reason for every natural disaster
and every car accident
this is the love our mothers never warned us about
the kind that tasted like lighter fluid
and lingered like gun powder under our nails
the kind that tried to split the earth right down the middle
just so it could breathe
this was the kind of love that the bible
wouldn’t talk about because it looked
too much like being buried alive
too much like a landscape made of bruises
too much like having a heart where the mouth should be
this was the kind of love Eve tumbled out of Eden for
I will never apologize for the way we were or the things we did
we could not help the volcano inside of our bodies
or how we burned like the treetops in Arizona
because this was the kind of love our mother’s didn’t warn us about
the kind we couldn’t even say out loud without
making the entire city shudder
"The love our mothers didn’t warn us about" (via 5000letters)
vintagenatgeographic:

Neatly spaced huts of a Mansaka barrio in the Philippines
National Geographic | August 1971

vintagenatgeographic:

Neatly spaced huts of a Mansaka barrio in the Philippines

National Geographic | August 1971

You are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing.
—E.E. Cummings (via rabbitinthemoon)

I’m older and I know that there aren’t a lot of good things around and I know that you are really good.

(Source: firelordzuko)

You lose it if you talk about it.
—Ernest Hemingway, The Art of Fiction (via feellng)
Solvitur ambulando.
It is solved by walking. (via invisiblestories)
The most important things are the hardest things to say. They are things you get ashamed of, because words make them smaller. When they were in your head they were limitless; but when they come out they seem to be no bigger than normal things. But that’s not all. The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried; they are clues that could guide your enemies to a prize they would love to steal. It’s hard and painful for you to talk about these things … and then people just look at you strangely. They haven’t understood what you’ve said at all, or why you almost cried while you were saying it.
—Stephen King, The Body  (via rushofgold)

(Source: quotes-shape-us)

A forgotten accordion of folding chairs
parked on a porch carry snow, heavy
on their shoulders.

They hold in breath
the same way you used to
right before I would throw
the last shovel of coal
on the fire between your thighs
just to watch your entire house
go up in flames.

Do you remember
when we found the hive of dead bees
in the backyard of that deserted house?

How we smashed it open with the rust-covered ax?
How we dug out the bees with tiny sticks
so we could cup them in our hands
& blow them off on to one another’s legs
just to hear each other scream?

All I ever wanted to do
was eat the weight
off your world.

Devour it all
until I was so fat
with your darkness
that you’d leave me,

that you’d walk away,
luminous
in your own skin.

Stranded ✮ Amanda Oaks (via amanda-oaks)