ourretrou

[ourretrou]

“[I]n horror, people do come back, but they’re never the same. It’s a deep human fantasy. I sometimes want to squeeze my eyes shut and open them again, and find that my mother isn’t dead, though she’s been dead for eight or nine years now. In poetry classes in the 1980s I was taught Lacan’s theory that the separation from your mother marks your entry into the Symbolic Order. Language acts are about this tragic separation. Writing is always equally about loss and gaining. It gives you the world while you’re writing, but you’re writing about things that aren’t there. So it’s always about loss. I’m writing about my childhood now, and it’s like writing about death in the other direction, because that world is so unavailable.” - Dodie Bellamy, The White Review, November 2016

[ourretrou]

♡ @my1lovejk ♡

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a little staycation in a littler irish town 

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biff and stress and college

Fuck my life like I really need to start working on college apps and focusing on finals but I don’t know why I’m not maybe because recently my brain has completely shut down and I’m not motivated to go to college, or exceed academically, and it’s kind of scaring me because now I’m like...what the fuck have I been doing for the past four years?

It’s like my brain is wired and buzzing with my perception of what I should be stressed about but at the same time it just feels...dead, and hollow and silent.

I read Biff as a pretty pathetic person after my shallow read of Death of Salesman. But he’s not. He’s human and real and flawed and every bit what I’m feeling right now. And I’ve never related more to a character in my life.

“I don’t know— what I’m supposed to want.”

[ourretrou]

https://www.instagram.com/p/BooMl5fgON8/

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One of the most beautiful village Location : Mishima-machi, Fukushima

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https://www.instagram.com/p/BlE1n6VgJ9A/

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Cambridge | 23/07/16 ♡

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Still Life with Roses, Peonies and Lilac, 1848, Adriana Haanen

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mini archive mb for @afterwarmth

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小白 [by 紅襪熊(・ᴥ・)] on flickr

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Osaka by owlnwolf on Flickr.

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First: she weaves your body. Second: she weaves your soul.

Margaret Atwood, from Selected Poems II: 1976 - 1986; “A Red Shirt,” (via hvorenn)

[ourretrou]

A woman who opens her heart to love you when it’s already been broken, is braver than any person you’ll meet.

Steven Benson (via purplebuddhaquotes)