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October is my empire. Terror is part of me. 一 Tamura Ryūichi

1. Alfonsina Storni, 2. Cy Twombly, 3. William Stanley Merwin, 4. Cy Twombly, 5. Virginia Woolf, 6. Jorge Albericio, 7. Gala Mukomolova, 8. Andrei Tarkovsky, 9. Czesław Miłosz, 10. Andrei Tarkovsky, 11. Thomas Wolfe, 12. Andrei Tarkovsky, 13. Louise Glück

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Jeanette Winterson, The PowerBook

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-Benedict Smith, I wish I wrote the way I thought

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original writing / do not repost

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Reading Short Stories for Free Online

(a constantly updated list)

“A Perfect Day for Bananafish” by J. D. Salinger

“Children of the Corn” by Stephen King

“Herbert West: Reanimator” by H. P. Lovecraft

“How to Get Back to the Forest” by Sofia Samatar

“Premium Harmony” by Stephen King

“Signs and Symbols” by Vladimir Nabokov

“The Body Snatcher” by Robert Louis Stevenson

“The Boogeyman” by Stephen King

“The Call of Cthulhu” by H. P. Lovecraft

“The Cask of Amontillado” by Edgar Allan Poe

“The Cathedral” by Raymond Carver

“The Door in the Wall” by H. G. Wells

“The Fall of the House of Usher” by Edgar Allan Poe

“The Garden Party” by Katherine Mansfield

“The Human Chair” by Edogawa Ranpo

“The Haunter of the Dark” by H. P. Lovecraft

“The Landlady” by Roald Dahl

“The Lottery” by Shirley Jackson

“The Masque of the Red Death” by Edgar Allan Poe

“The Metamorphosis” by Franz Kafka

“The Most Dangerous Game” by Richard Connell

“The Necklace” by Guy de Maupassant

“The New Dress” by Virginia Woolf

“The Pedestrian” by Ray Bradbury

“The Possibility of Evil” by Shirley Jackson

“The Scarlet Ibis” by James Hurst

“The Summer People” by Shirley Jackson

“The Tell-Tale Heart” by Edgar Allan Poe

“The Yellow Wallpaper” by Charlotte Perkins Gilman

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oh my god

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you are jeff (2008) - richard siken

“you’re in the car with a bee. oh shit! get out!”

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on childhood friendship: (1) / (2) / (3, 4) night in the woods (2017) / (5) / (6) / (7)  p.s. i still love you, jenny han

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“How amazing it is to find someone who wants to hear about all the things that go on in your head.”

— Nina LaCour // Hold Still

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on love❣️

i can’t think of any greater happiness than to be with you all the time, without interruption, endlessly, even though i feel that here in this world there’s no other undisturbed place for our love, neither in the village nor anywhere else; and i dream of a grave, deep and narrow, where we could clasp each other in our arms as with clamps, and i would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more. (franz kafka)

this post:

“does she love you?” “yes” “did she say so?” “no” “so how do you know?” “well… each time she returns my books, there are flowers inside” (…) “does she read them?” “of course she does!” “does she? have you asked her?” “i can see she’s underlined the good bits” “does she want to save mankind too?” “yes” “how do you know?” “by the sentences she underlines” “is that enough to know she wants to save mankind?” “yes” (a moment of innocence, 1996)

that’s not what i meant to say at all / i mean, i’m sick of meaning i just wanna hold you (…) those are you got some nice shoulders / i’d like to put my hands around them (car seat headrest)

peaceful embrace by briony marshall:

“hey,” he said, half asleep, “what were you before you met me?” / “i think i was drowning.” / a pause. / “and what are you now?” he whispered, sinking. / i thought for a second. “water.” (ocean vuong)

i love you. i want us both to eat well. (christopher citro)

come let me love you, let me give my life to you / let me drown in your laughter, let me die in your arms / let me lay down beside you, let me always be with you / come let me love you, come love me again (john denver)

this painting by salman toor:

i could say something fantastically rare and exotic but really, love is the rarest thing of all. (roja dove)

don’t think i fell for you, or fell over you. i didn’t fall in love, i rose in it. i saw you and made up my mind. (toni morrison)

you kiss the back of my legs and i want to cry. only the sun has come this close, only the sun. (shauna barbosa)

oh! if you could only walk / into this room / again and touch me anywhere / i swear / i would not long for heaven or / for earth / more than i’d wish to stay there / touched / and touching you (june jordan)

this:

i wanted to tell them that i never knew that people like Dante existed in the world, people who looked at the stars, and knew the mysteries of water, and knew enough to know that birds belonged to the heavens and weren’t meant to be shot down from their graceful flights by mean and stupid boys. (benjamin alire sáenz)

from here:

someone will remember us / i say / even in another time (sappho)

i have let tenderness in. every night i am coming home to warm food and lamplight leaking out of the windows into the night, and tenderness is holding the door open. (oumaima @douceurs)

that’s how i loved you. / you, off the long train from red bank carrying / a coffee as big as your arm, a bag with two / computers swinging in it unwieldily at your / side. i remember we broke into laughter / when we saw each other. what was between / us wasn’t a fragile thing to be coddled, cooed / over. it came out fully formed, ready to run. (ada limón)

trevante rhodes about moonlight:

Well Marianne, it’s come to this time when we are really so old and our bodies are falling apart and I think I will follow you very soon. Know that I am so close behind you that if you stretch out your hand, I think you can reach mine. (leonard cohen to marianne ilhen)

Couple on a train, photo by Vivian Maier, 1956

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“The truth is, a writer’s voice is made from other writers’ voices. Pieced together, picked and chosen, stumbled into, uninformed: influence seems like an involuntary series of contagions that eventually turns into a sort of vessel, or transportation system. As we acquire a sense of taste, and perhaps a sense of vocation, our reading becomes more directed and targeted, but we are bent and shaped and destined to be changed by the genius of others. Compare it to the theory behind cannibalism, if you like. One eats the heart of the admired one and becomes them. The remarkable news is that this pastiche of voices results in the incarnation of a new poet, a new hybrid distillation of voice, capable of telling the story of experience in new, valuable ways. […] Each strong new writer is a deep student of what he or she has read and an amalgam of preexisting sentences and styles that have never been combined like that before. The idea that writerly originality appears from nowhere, or exists as something in isolation, a thing to be guarded and protected from influence, is lunacy. Anyone who doesn’t school themselves by deep, wide, and idiosyncratic reading is choosing aesthetic poverty.”

— Tony Hoagland, from The Art of Voice: Poetic Principles and Practice (W.W. Norton & Co., 2019)

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What does the God of your childhood look like?            A soft apparition pigeoned in the attic,

a wound eating you one year at a time?

— Rachel McKibbens, from “outhouse,” published in Vinyl

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Bedroom do Sapho (1867). Marc Gabrıel Charles Gleyre (1806-1874)

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“I have led a toothless life, he thought. A toothless life. I have never bitten into anything. I was waiting. I was reserving myself for later on—and I have just noticed that my teeth have gone.”

— Jean-Paul Sartre, The Age of Reason