#something brought on by you are jeff by richard siken

[withbluegills]

I have been thinking a lot of viewing myself outside of myself. I am full of so much self-loathing and yet I think I could love a twin of myself. I am certain I would not be so terrible if I was not living as myself. It would be so much easier for me to take care of this body and see it as worthy if I wasn't living in it.

If I came across my dead body, abandoned in a creek, I would not simply walk by. (I know my death seems counterproductive to my point but it isn't). I would brush the debris off of my body and take myself home. I would not hesitate to wash myself clean and lay down to my dead body in bed. I would hold myself tight and live with myself comfortably.

If I came across myself stumbling down the street, I would not pass by without connecting. I would take myself by the hand and we would walk side by side. I would kiss my own cheeks and brush my own hair. I could be domestic with myself like this, cook and do my laundry without it all feeling like a chore.

I keep thinking about papers that come to the conclusion that people in love (sexually or romantically) with their own family members (especially twins) are narcissistic. I don't think it is. It seems much more to me that there is some connections you cannot get with anyone but yourself. And that for some people, they cannot connect with themselves as themselves. So there is this "manageable" degree of separation created with a twin (or another family member or even simply through someone similar to yourself) that allows someone to become intimate with themself without entirely having to confront what it is that they are doing.

[twistedwit-arch]

LIST 5 SONGS THAT INSPIRE YOU TO WRITE YOUR MUSE.

monsters - shinedown //   'Cause my monsters are real, they're trained how to kill There's no comin' back and they just laugh at how I feel. These monsters can fly, and they'll never say die. There's no goin' back, if I get trapped I'll never heal. Yeah, my monsters are real

throne - bring me the horizon //  So you can throw me to the wolves Tomorrow I will come back Leader of the whole pack Beat me black and blue Every wound will shape me Every scar will build my throne  

darkness settles in -  five finger death punch  //  Waiting for someone to save me But everyone just runs away Waiting for someone to change me But no one ever comes I'm breaking down the walls that cage me But nothing ever falls in place Waiting for the end to take me Blinded by the sun

break in  -  halestorm //   You are the only one The only one that sees me That trusts me and believes me You are the only one The only one that knows me And in the dark you show me Yeah, it's perfectly reckless Damn, you leave me defenseless So break in

under your scars  -  godsmack  //  Wish you were here Right beside me So I could watch you sleep Hold your body closer, breathe you deep And everything feels broken When you're not next to me Would you still be you If we weren't we Under your scars I pray You're like a shooting star in the rain You're everything that feels like home to me, yeah

& LIST 5 QUOTES THAT INSPIRE YOU TO WRITE YOUR MUSE.

“I could recognize him by touch alone, by smell; I would know him blind, by the way his breaths came and his feet struck the earth. I would know him in death, at the end of the world.”   // madeleine miller - the song of achilles  

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.“ // richard siken - you are jeff

“ What happens to a house when it is left alone? It becomes worn, and aged. Its paint peels, its foundation begins to sink. It goes for too long unlived in. What does it think of? What does it dream? How does it look on those creatures who built it, brought it into existence only to abandon it when its usefulness no longer satisfies them? They grow lonesome. It stares for long hours into the darkness of its own empty halls and sees shadows. And they jump as they think, here, here is someone again I’m not alone. And each time it is wrong, and the hurt starts over ” // Anatomy (2016) - kittyhorrorshow

“ here is the deepest secret nobody knows (here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide) and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)  ” //  e e cummings

“ He's more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same” // emily bronte - wuthering heights

stolen from: @crimeloyalty tagging: @piraticalwit @scapedgrace @vamporn @paddyfuck @lokadottr and anyone else with the masochistic urge to do this thing, tag me so I can see your answers!

[straighttohellbuddy]

sister!innit sister!innit i am YELLING SO LOUDLY YOU ARE A DELIGHT AND I LVOR YOU AND THANK YOU AND OHHHHH I LOVE IT SO MUCH ALREADY. The dynamic with wilbur and reader, as well as the dynamic with the boyf and also the deterioration im foaming at the mouth you’re incredible and i cannot wait for part two!!! -🐈‍⬛

BRO I LOVE THEM WITH MY WHOLE HEART YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!!!! also i love tommy and reader being deadset ride or die for each other. he's a good kid.

also there's a poem that's brought up more than any other, which is the final stanza from You Are Jeff by Richard Siken, and it's something of a spoiler but i think we all know this ends romantically (duh) but it makes me WEEP every time the reader brings it up and doesn't want to push it but.... yo....

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shovelled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.

[boykeats]

Hey, do you know of any tender, famous quotes like the one that goes: “I’ll take care of you” / “it’s rotten work” / “not to me. Not if it’s you.”

“I made my way up on the beach and lay down. Finny came, ceremoniously took my pulse, and then went back into the ocean. He stayed in an hour, breaking off every few minutes to come back to me and talk… He was everywhere, he enjoyed himself hugely, he laughed out loud at passing sea gulls. And he did everything he could think of for me.” – John Knowles, A Separate Peace

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.” – Richard Siken, “You Are Jeff”

“He had brought out the man in Alec, and now it was Alec’s turn to bring out the hero in him. He knew what the call was and what his answer must be. They must live outside class, without relations or money; they must work and stick to each other till death.” – E. M. Forester, Maurice

“But here we are and something about it doesn’t feel like an accident. / We’re all looking for something to adore / and how to survive the bending and breaking.” – Lucy Dacus, “Maps On A Wall”

“‘Love him,’ said Jacques, with vehemence, ‘love him and let him love you. Do you think anything else under heaven really matters? And how long, at the best, can it last, since you are both men and still have everywhere to go?… But you can make your time together anything but dirty, you can give each other something which will make both of you better—forever—if you will not be ashamed, if you will only not play it safe.’” – James Baldwin, Giovanni’s Room

“I will take good care of you / Everything you feel is good / If you would only let you / I will wash your hair at night / And dry it off with care / I will see your body bare / And still I will live here” – Mitski, “I Will”

[wordsbydorothy]

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.”

-          Stanza 24: You Are Jeff by Richard Siken

Morning Silence

Chris’ parent’s CRV had that distinct old car scent. It was a mix of Wendy’s fries that rolled under the seat, spilled drinks and sports bags that had accumulated over the years. I leaned the chair back, pulling my feet up to my chest. It was too late for us to be sitting on the Western Esplanade. Two other cars were in the lot, but too far for us to be concerned. In the distance, the light thud of bass from Arawak Cay whispered in my eardrums. I could taste the salt in the ear, but my eyes were focused on the way the ocean battered the shoreline. The waves were rough, hitting the sand over and over.

Three weeks ago I flew back from Atlanta to visit my family. For my own mental health’s sake, I made the decision to stay at a hotel. I loved my family but being alone taught me that the way my family interacted with me only stressed me out. My first night, I ate at hotel’s ramen restaurant, too afraid to walk onto the streets, mostly out of fear that I’d see someone I knew. It was too early. I needed to get settled first. The restaurant was mostly quiet. I saw in a corner, watching stray tourists walking past – aware that I too could now be considered a tourist.

“You straight?” The waiters voice pulled me out of my stare.

I nodded. “Yeah I straight.”

“Une been home in a minute, I could tell,” he laughed.

“That obvious?”

He raised one eyebrow as he poured more sake into my glass and walked away. Pulling out my notepad, I doodled for a moment, biting into an eggroll when I remembered I needed to eat. I was deep in sketching when an all too familiar voice echoed down the hall. I paused, knowing it was too late to pay my bill and escape, so I sat still, hoping I’d blend in with the wall.

The waiter seated Chris and his family directly across from me, but on the opposite side of the restaurant. His sister’s laugh sounded the same as I remembered. I sketched for a moment, letting my hair fall into my face - an attempt to hide it but curiosity got the best of me. I looked. He looked back.

“You sure you good.” The waiter was next to me suddenly. He looked at me, then looked at them, then back at me.

“You know what, this een my business,” he said, leaving the bill on the table. I placed my card on top of it. It was my escape ticket, but I was too afraid to leave. So I sat. The waiter came and took my card but said nothing.  When he brought it back, I stopped him.

“Is there another way out of here?” I asked.

He looked curious for a moment. His eyes seemed to be in search of a story, but it was clear he wasn’t going to ask.

“No, I’m sorry,” he said. “You have a good night ma’am, don’t do nothing too crazy ya hear.”

Closing my sketchbook, I took a deep breath and stood up, making my way towards the exit. As the gap between myself and his table started to close, I looked up once more. His eyes met mine and smiled this time.

“Alyssa,” he waved. His parents and siblings turned. Out the corner of my eye I saw the waiter pour himself a drink.

“Hi,” I whispered. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure I said it. He got up, walking towards me and embraced me, but I couldn’t move. I could barely breathe. He pulled back, looking at me for a moment then took my hand and pulled me towards his parents. When we got close enough he let go, my hand flying into my back pocket.

“Good evening,” I half smiled.

“Mom, Dad, this is my friend Alyssa,” he said. I knew them already, but they didn’t know me. His brother and sister stared in awe.

“Nice to meet you,” his mom said. “Where did you guys meet?”

“Church,” his sister coughed. He ignored her.

“We used to work together at a firm in Atlanta,” he said.

“So we lying now,” his brother mumbled. He ignored that too.

Chris’ brother and sister knew the full story. For the most part, they took my side. His sister called him out when we were younger for not letting me meet their parents. His brother ignored him when he ghosted me. To some extent, I knew they liked me, but sibling loyalty was a boundary I refused to get in between.

“So you’re visiting,” his dad asked.

“No sir,” I answered. “I’m from here.”

“Oh,” he said. “Well it was nice to meet you.”

I nodded. In the corner the waiter was watching, shaking his head.

“You all have a good night,” I said, backing away. His father had gone back to eating, but his mom looked at me like she saw everything I was feeling. I turned quickly, walking towards the exit when I heard footsteps behind me and a hand grab my wrist.

“Wait,” Chris said.

“For what,” I mumbled.

“I- do you want to get drinks tonight? After I drop them home?”

“Don’t fucking do it,” the voice of the waiter called out.

I stared at him for a moment, about to turn away.

“Room 1172” I mumbled.

“Well Muddafuck,” I heard the waiter say as I turned the corner to walk back to my room.

------

Last winter at the bar, we both agreed we would stay friends for a while. We went out and got drinks, we shopped together, ran the Beltline together in the mornings. Our friendship felt like it was growing into something real. But suddenly, he stopped answering texts. The silence came back and once again, it was just me, my cat and the Atlanta Winter.

It was 2:30am when he knocked on the door. I curled up on the chair unable to sleep when the sharp sound startled me.

“It’s me.” The text lit up my phone. I wanted to text back something snarky, something that said how annoyed I was with him disappearing on me. But there was something about the morning silence that advised against it.

The bright light from the hall felt blinding as I opened the door. He looked at me, his locs in a bun on top of his head, a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

“Let’s go,” he said.

“Where?”

“You’ll see,” he answered.

I didn’t change. Walking through the hotel in a sports bra and some shorts felt strange, but at the same time it didn’t. His car was parked in front. The valet guys didn’t question or charge him, but I felt their eyes on me. I pulled my hair out of my bun to hide my face again, to avoid their boring eyes.

“Dis gyal can’t be serious,” I heard as the hotel doors opened again. Turning, I looked into the eyes of the waiter and burst out laughing, the sound echoing against the walls. It was a strange sound to hear early in the morning. He waved at me dismissively and I got in the car, thinking to myself that I really couldn’t be serious at all.

“What was that about,” Chris asked.

“Inside joke,” I said. He stared at me for a moment, then put the car in drive. Nassau at night was peaceful, atleast to the untrained eye. If you listened closely you’d hear sirens in the distant, the late night cruise ship pulling out of the dock, the honk from a driver upset at a pedestrian walking in the road or the steady thud of the night joggers. We passed Go Slow Bend and I stared out to sea. It had always been one of my favorite spots. There was something about the way it was beautiful but could be so deadly that attracted me to it time after time.

He pulled into Western Esplanade and rolled down the windows. He got out the car and I watched him, unsure of what he was doing. Pulling open the trunk I heard the sound of ice clink against a metal cup. When he came back, he passed me a cup that said Calvary Bible on it. I listened as the ice clinked against it, thinking back to memories I had of the place. It almost felt sacrilegious drinking whiskey from it. Then I thought of the way the youth leaders called me a whore. The way the people I called friends turned against me. The way church leaders told me I was ruining the men of the church. But by men they meant Chris.

“Do you not… drink whiskey anymore?”

“No, I do,” I said. “I’m just … thinking.”

“Of what?” he asked.

“Calvary Bible,” I answered.

“Oh,” his voice was light then, like he was tiptoeing into a room he knew he wasn’t supposed to be in.

We sat there in silence for a long while, staring at the ocean, the stars, anything but each other. The two cars in the lot left and then it was just us.

“You have a habit of ruining me,” I said. The whiskey had found a home in my veins, and I found strength in it.

“I- what?”

“At Calvary. You knew the power you had, and you let people say what they wanted. You made me the bad guy, and never once corrected your friends,”

“Im so-“ he started but I cut it.

“I’m not done,” I said. “You took so much from me and couldn’t stand up for me. Your parents don’t know me but all your girlfriends before and after me met them. Your best friend made my life a living hell. Then you disappeared. Not once, not twice, but three times. You promised me you wouldn’t leave this time.”

He was quiet then.

“You promised,” I whispered.

I chugged the rest of the whiskey then and got out the car, tossing the cup into the ocean. The waves pushed it against the sea wall and it clanged. Against the nights silence it was loud, echoing down the beach. I felt it in my bones, that echo. It felt like dragging nails down a chalkboard. So I screamed. I screamed against the waves crashing the shore. I screamed because I was in pain and I couldn’t hold it in anymore. Then I turned, tears in my eyes and sat down in the car.

We were quiet then. Everything was. The ocean went still. The light thud from Arawak Cay had stopped. The sound of the windows going up startled me. Then his hand was on my knee. I stared at it, not sure what to think. So the whiskey thought for me. I pulled myself over the passenger seat and sat in his lap. Pulling his cup out of his hand and placing it in the cup holder, I looked at him. I looked at the man I knew I loved but shouldn’t. Reaching over, I cracked the window slightly then put my hand against his heart.

“I don’t want you to feel the way I feel, it would ruin you” I said. “This pain, it would kill you.”

Pressing my lips against his, I didn’t let myself think, I just let it happen. It was the only way he could understand what I felt. This was the only way to express the anguish that had made a home in my heart. First kisses turned to last kisses. I was present in my skin but watching myself simultaneously. For a moment it seemed there was no end, just a means for us to explain the way the words we could no longer say. When we finished he was in tears. They fell down his face like a torrential rain. He reached to cup my face, but I pulled away, shifting back to the passenger seat.

He does not move. He lies where he has fallen, and I stare at the orange light creeping up along the horizon.

- to love a church boy is to break your heart

[garbagequeer]

hey hello im writing a piece for laptop ensemble that involves sampling and i need the most repressed/tender/yearning quotes you got. just as gay and heart wrenching as you can. but also no pressure I know youre a stranger on the web I just feel like you post that kind of stuff a lot thank you bye

hope this isnt like too late school keeps me busy :( (also can you put a read more on asks? guess i’ll find out). i ended up choosing many quotes from the same texts cause im indecisive as shit but i’ll bold my favorites from those in case that makes it easier for you!

anyways first of all you can never go wrong w richard siken as obvious as that is. these are both from you are jeff

You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you. And you feel like you’ve done something terrible, like robbed a liquor store, or swallowed pills, or shoveled yourself a grave in the dirt, and you’re tired. You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you don’t even have a name for.

Let’s say you’ve swallowed a bad thing and now it’s got its hands inside you. This is the essence of love and failure. You see what I mean but you’re happy anyway, and that’s okay, it’s a love story 

this one’s from planet of love (the format got fucked bc tumblr is not actually a finctional website but :/ )

I have a megaphone and you play along,                                                                 because you want to die for love,                                                            you always have.     Imagine this:You’re pulling the car over. Somebody’s waiting.                      You’re going to die                                            in your best friend’s arms.             And you play along because it’s funny, because it’s written down,you’ve memorized it,

from litany in which certain things are crossed out 

I make you pancakes, I take you hunting, I talk to you as if you’re            really there.Are you there, sweetheart? Do you know me? Is this microphone live?                                                       Let me do it right for once,

sorry about the scene at the bottom of the stairwell                                    and how I ruined everything by saying it out loud.            Especially that, but I should have known.You see, I take the parts that I remember and stitch them back together            to make a creature that will do what I sayor love me back.

We were inside the train car when I started to cry. You were crying too,            smiling and crying in a way that made meeven more hysterical. You said I could have anything I wanted, but I                                                                                just couldn’t say it out loud.Actually, you said Love, for you,                             is larger than the usual romantic love. It’s like a religion. It’s                                                                                                 terrifying. No one                                                                        will ever want to sleep with you.

from snow and dirty rain

I had a dream about you. We were in the gold roomwhere everyone finally gets what they want.

that scene from when harry met sally where sally says:

One day I was taking Alice’s little girl fro the afternoon. I’d promised to take her to the circus, and we were in a cab playing “I spy” - you know, “I spy a lamppost”, “I spy a mailbox” - and she looked out the window and there was this man and this woman with two little kids, and the man had one of the kids on his shoulders, and Alice’s little girl said “I spy a family”, and I satrted crying, you know? I just started crying, and I went home

(like anyone else sometimes cries when u see a family doing something nice? is it because i want to participate in a sense of family of my own but have been excluded as a gay person from it’s portrayals and it makes me go :^( cause i dont feel there’s room for me there but i want there to be and i just have to long for this nuclear family heteronormative way of life that i’ve been made to believe is idylic? is it because my parents got divorced and my dad’s an ass and my mom is just a very angry lady and i want to re-do my own childhood? who knows. should we ban movies? yes we should!)

from maurice (ultimate source of tender)

“There was something better in life than this rubbish, if only he could get to it, love, nobility, big spaces where passion clasped peace, spaces no science could reach, but they existed for ever, full of woods some of them, and arched with majestic sky and a friend”

‘Did you ever dream you had a friend, Alec? Nothing else but just “my friend”, he trying to help you and you him. A friend’ he repeated, sentimental suddenly. ‘Someone to last your whole life and you his. I suppose such a thing can’t really happen outside sleep’

we are all so lucky i don’t actually own maurice in english this would just turn into me quoting the whole book

ee cummings voices to voices, lip to lip

the thing perhaps isto eat flowers and not to be afraid.

from virgina woolf’s letters to vita

7 september 1925

january 21 1926 vita writes

I am reduced to a thing that wants Virginia. I composed a beautiful letter to you in the sleepless nightmare hours of the night, and it has all gone: I just miss you, in a quite simple desperate human way. You, with all your un-dumb letters, would never write so elementary phrase as that; perhaps you wouldn’t even feel it. And yet I believe you’ll be sensible of a little gap. But you’d clothe it in so exquisite a phrase that it would lose a little of its reality. Whereas with me it is quite stark: I miss you even more than I could have believed; and I was prepared to miss you a good deal. So this letter is just really a squeal of pain. It is incredible how essential to me you have become. I suppose you are accustomed to people saying these things. Damn you, spoilt creature; I shan’t make you love me any the more by giving myself away like this—But oh my dear, I can’t be clever and stand-offish with you: I love you too much for that. Too truly. You have no idea how stand-offish I can be with people I don’t love. I have brought it to a fine art. But you have broken down my defences. And I don’t really resent it …

and on january 26 virginia writes back

Your letter from Trieste came this morning—But why do you think I don’t feel, or that I make phrases? ‘Lovely phrases’ you say which rob things of reality. Just the opposite. Always, always, always I try to say what I feel. Will you then believe that after you went last Tuesday—exactly a week ago—out I went into the slums of Bloomsbury, to find a barrel organ. But it did not make me cheerful … And ever since, nothing important has happened—Somehow its dull and damp. I have been dull; I have missed you. I do miss you. I shall miss you. And if you don’t believe it, you’re a longeared owl and ass. Lovely phrases? … 

from virginia’s diary, about vita on december 21 1925

I like her and being with her and the splendour–she shines in the grocer’s shop in Sevenoaks with a candle lit radiance, stalking on legs like beech trees, pink glowing, grape clustered, pearl hung.

from virginia woolf’s to the light house

What device for becoming, like waters poured into one jar, inextricably the same, one with the object one adored? Could the body achieve, or the mind, subtly mingling in the intricate passages of the brain? or the heart? Could loving, as people called it, make her and Mrs Ramsay one? for it was not knowledge but unity that she desired, not inscriptions on tablets, nothing that could be written in any language known to men, but intimacy itself, which is knowledge, she had thought, leaning her head on Mrs Ramsay’s knee. Nothing happened. Nothing! Nothing! as she leant her head against Mrs Ramsay’s knee. And yet, she knew knowledge and wisdom were stored up in Mrs Ramsay’s heart.

Love had a thousand shapes. There might be lovers whose gift it was to choose out the elements of things and place them together and so, giving them a wholeness not theirs in life, make of some scene, or meeting of people (all now gone and separate), one of those globed compacted things over which thought lingers, and love plays.

there forced themselves upon her other things, her own inadequacy, her insignificance, keeping house for her father off the Brompton Road, and had much ado to control her impulse to fling herself (thank Heaven she had always resisted so far) at Mrs Ramsay’s knee and say to her—but what could one say to her? “I’m in love with you?” No, that was not true. “I’m in love with this all,” waving her hand at the hedge, at the house, at the children. It was absurd, it was impossible 

(fun fact: the spanish translation adds something that i’d translate as “one could not say what one meant / what one wanted to say”, which i really like and i was disapointed to find out isnt on the english edition)

It was love, she thought, pretending to move her canvas, distilled and filtered; love that never attempted to clutch its object; but, like the love which mathematicians bear their symbols, or poets their phrases, was meant to be spread over the world and become part of the human gain. So it was indeed. The world by all means should have shared it  

from the great gatsby

I didn’t want to go to the city. I wasn’t worth a decent stroke of work but it was more than that—I didn’t want to leave Gatsby. I missed that train, and then another, before I could get myself away (…) Just before I reached the hedge I remembered something and turned around. ‘They’re a rotten crowd,’ I shouted across the lawn. ‘You’re worth the whole damn bunch put together.’ I’ve always been glad I said that. It was the only compliment I ever gave him

from kafka’s diaries

may 27 1911: Today is your birthday, but I am not even sending you the usual book, for it would be only pretence; at bottom I am after all not in position to give you a book. I am writing only because it is so necessary for me today to be near you for a moment

parts from a from a letter he wrote to oskar pollak on february 4 1902

When we talk together the words are hard; we tread over them as if they were rough pavement. The most delicate things acquire awkward feet and we can’t help it. We’re almost in each other’s way; I bump into you and you - I don’t dare and you. When we come to things that are not exactly cobblestones or the Kunstwart, we suddenly see that we are in masquerade, acting with angular faces (especially me, I admit), and then we become sad and bored. Does anyone make you as bored as I do?

then I fall silent and you fall silent and you become bored, and I become bored and it’s all like a stupid hangover and there’s no use lifting a hand. But neither wants to say this to the other, out of shame or fear or - You see, we are afraid of each other, or I am.

Of course I understand it. It’s boring to stand for years in front of an ugly wall and it just won’t crumble away. Of course, but the wall is afraid for itself, fro the garden (if there is one), and you get out of sorts, yawn, have headaches, don’t know where to turn

You often talk with her, not only for the sake of talking. You walk around with her somewhere here or there, or in Roztok, and i sit at my desk at home. You talk with her, and in the middle of a sentence somebody jumps up and makes a bow. That is me with my untrimmed words and angular faces. That lasts only a moment, and then you go on talking. I sit at my desk at home and yawn. I’ve been trhough it already. Wouldn’t that separate us? Is that so strange? Are we enemies? I am very fond of you

from his leters to milena

Last night I dreamed about you. What happened in detail I can hardly remember, all I know is that we kept merging into one another. I was you, you were me. Finally you somehow caught fire.

jane wong. from clearing

We want to believe everything has meaning.Plums blossom over a power grid

and I am in love again. The shame of it.

from leslie harrison’s [sirens]

I’m not Penelope married to faith married to waitingbound in fine soft strands of silk dyed and stretchedin my world longing has teeth and fins has a tastefor blood longing is a room built entirely of knives

Lorde’s melodrama tour interlude

Don’t you wish you could go inside a heart, see the strings and atrium’s, everything beating and bleeding. It’s kind of funny, I spend almost every minute thinking about love. Being guided, and divided by love. But I’ve never seen it. It’s just a rumour, a comedown, an afterglow. I wanna see it, in colour. In the summer, I can almost picture it

from Andrea Long Chu’s on liking women

One day, you tell yourself, it will give you what you want. Then, one day, it doesn’t. Now it dawns on you that your object will probably never give you what you want. But this is not what’s disappointing, not really. What’s disappointing is what happens next: nothing. You keep your object. You continue to follow it around, stash it in a drawer, water it, tweet at it. It still doesn’t give you what you want—but you knew that. You have had another realization: not getting what you want has very little to do with wanting it. Knowing better usually doesn’t make it better. You don’t want something because wanting it will lead to getting it. You want it because you want it

ada limón, In a Mexican Restaurant I Recall How Much You Upset Me

But love is impossible and it goes ondespite the impossible. You’re the muscleI cut from the bone and still the boneremembers, still it wants (so much, it wants)the flesh back, the real thing,if only to rail against it, if onlyto argue and fight, if only to missa solve-able absence.

i dont think i need to get into mitski songs because you probably already know but basically pink in the night/come into the water/once more to see you/in happy when she says if you’re going take the train so i can hear it rumble one last rumble/in i want you from the first verse to the first time she goes “i just need a quiet place where i can scream how i love you” (YES the card thing is very important)/the first verse of i will (w emphasis on everything you feel is good i f you wold only let you)/abbey/strawberry blond

sufjan steven’s futile devices obviously predatory wasp of the palisades you know the drill 

was going to find some twin fantasy lyrics but i started thinking about famous prophets (minds) and like. emotionally left my body so. i wont be thinking about it or any other songs anymore it makes me too crazy

from frances ha

It’s that thing when you’re with someone and you love them and they know it and they love you and you know it but it’s a party and you’re both talking to other people and you’re laughing and shining and you look across the room and catch each other’s eyes. But not because you’re possessive, or it’s precisely sexual, but because that is your person in this life and it’s funny and sad but only because this life will end and it’s this secret world that exists right there. In public. Unnoticed. That no one else knows about. It’s sort of like how they say that other dimensions exist all around us but we don’t have the ability to perceive them. That’s what I want out of a relationship. Or just life, I guess.

from ellen lee’s notes on twin fantasy that i revisit constantly

there’s no going back to deliver these words to the ones they were really meant for. That’s how heartbreak feels, I guess. It feels like your heart in between the teeth of someone who’s looking away. When you’ve lost your loved object, what happens to all the things you have to say to them? When they’re turned away, what happens to all the things that you couldn’t, but desperately need(ed) to, say to their face? He dissociates himself from his own romance until it becomes a fantasy. You have your bleeding heart, you have a finite set of memories — when nothing new enters and you’re unwilling to let go, then you have a fantasy. The loved object enters into you and transforms.

the journey home by dermot bolger(havent read this at all dont really plan to/dont know a thing about it either i just came across this shit like 2 years ago and i still think about it)

I wanted to hurt him; I wanted just to touch him. What I wanted I’m not really sure. If he had stopped and opened his arms I would have walked towards him; I would have sat on the kerb all night with him

adam b, sweet i have a (really gay) heart

i feel like my body is the extension of a lake. i feel really badabout not telling you the truth, sometimes. i feelreally small next to you. tall boys remind me of bean stalks.i wish i had your legs. i wish i could know your handsbefore i even touch them

aaaand i think that’s all i could think of and track down, hope this is actually helpful and not too long (i am indecisive no kidding). also ksjdfg it’s nice that you thought to ask me this and i did have fun going over all these quotes so thank you 💖💖💖

[brofisting]

As you might know, I’ve recently gotten into hockey! It’s objectively bad, but so is basically everything, and fanfiction is objectively good, so I think in the end it works out okay. You might enjoy it if you like:

tricking yourself into loving sweat-soaked weird-looking sports jerks

serious codependency

“no homo bro but i’m desperately in love with you”

the concept of grown men sending other grown men to The Sin Bin

sex tears (hockey fandom is really into sex tears)

Instead of organizing these by team or pairing, since there are a lot of those and I’m not out here to rep for anyone in particular (b/c apparently the point of sports is to make those decisions yourself and then suffer for them for the rest of your life), I’ve decided to rec you the fics I personally have enjoyed the most, which should be a fairly, uh, interesting cross-section of what’s on offer, but should not be taken as a comprehensive one. Now, without further ado, allow me to present...

(A HOCKEY RPF FANFIC REC LIST)

In approximate order from shortest to longest.

GENERAL WARNING: These are all RPF, and feature fictionalized depictions of real people. If that makes you uncomfortable, don’t read them. Many of these stories also include depictions of homophobia. Some include graphic descriptions of injuries. Please check each fic’s tags/intro for any more specific warnings, or with me if you have a concern about a specific story. 

Without Access, Favor, or Discretion, 7iris P. K. Subban/Carey Price, PG-13, ~2k ‘Is this Habs goaltender Carey Price’s dick?’ the Deadspin headline screams, and PK snorts coffee out his nose.

the real hockey widows of new jersey, meretricula Claude Giroux/Danny Briere, PG-13, ~3k “Since when does Sylvie like you?” Danny demanded. / “Why wouldn’t Sylvie like me? I’m not divorced from her.” Claude paused, then added thoughtfully, "Also, I cook, and I’m never late picking the boys up from school.”

drop everything now, blamefincham & thistidalwave Alex Galchenyuk/Brendan Gallagher, PG-13, ~5k “It’s a stupid bucket list thing! It was really easy to get these tickets!” Alex says loudly, sitting up and glaring at her. / “Yeah,” Anna says in between bouts of laughter, “but you bought them. Does Brendan know you want to take him on a romantic date to fulfill one of his lifelong dreams?”

Closed Fracture, lightgetsin Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin, PG-13, ~6k “You’re on Puck Daddy,” Taylor said, instead of a greeting. “The headline is ‘Best Hockey Player in the World Sidney Crosby Taken Out by Eight Year Old, Breaks Arm in Mite Hockey Game.’” 

Something Old, Something New, Rave Michael Latta/Tom Wilson, NC-17, ~6k “I’m into guys,” Mike had told him before they moved in together. “If we’re gonna be roommates, that’s gotta be cool with you. I don’t want it to turn out to be a thing later.” 

Long in the Tooth, Ferritin4 Roberto Luongo/Carey Price, NC-17, ~6k “I’m not telling you not to train,” Bobby said. “I’m just telling you not to be completely insane about everything for the rest of your life.”

(MORE RECS UNDER THE CUT, THIS GOT... A LITTLE OUT OF HAND, LENGTH-WISE.)

yes is a pleasant country, arabesque05 Sidney Crosby/Pittsburgh Penguins Team,  Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin, NC-17, ~6k “Sid,” Geno says. “Team lonely.”

As Tall As Cliffs, oflights Tyson Barrie/Gabriel Landeskog, NC-17, ~9k Tyson and Gabe both made 2015 resolutions to give each other more compliments. It turns into a whole thing, and ends about how you'd expect. 

Wildest Dreams, oflights Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin, NC-17, ~10k Of all the new things going on this season, Sidney Crosby wearing panties before and after a game is not something Geno could’ve anticipated. And being interested in Sidney Crosby wearing panties before and after a game is not something he could’ve prepared himself for.

jump on a moving train, oops_ohdear Alexander Ovechkin/Nicklas Backstrom, NC-17, ~10k “Best baby need best jersey,” Alex says blithely, which doesn’t actually answer the question. It does, however, tell Nicklas whose jersey it is, and sure enough when Alex lifts it up to put it back in the bag Nicklas can see the 8 and the ‘OVECHKIN’ emblazoned on the back.

off-ice situation (& sequel), (orphaned account) Tyler Seguin/Jamie Benn, NC-17, ~11k “What’s your off-ice situation like, guys?” / Time stops completely. Tyler wants to say, ‘pretty fucking gay, to be honest with you.’

run, we’ll get there, joyfulseeker Mike Richards/Jeff Carter, NC-17, ~12k “There’s some stuff I’d like to see between here and there. So if you’re driving,” Jeff says.

King Me, Ferritin4 Alexander Ovechkin/Nicklas Backstrom, NC-17, ~12k Hockey is hockey, and politics is politics. There are kings of the game, and there are kings in their crowns and robes, and there isn't usually much in the way of overlap. (Secret royalty AU.)

like a sledgehammer, wafflehood Michael Latta/Tom Wilson, NC-17, ~13k It was probably inevitable that the thing where they stand up for each other so indiscriminately would eventually become a problem for them.

Something Old, uraneia Claude Giroux/Danny Briere, NC-17, ~13k Caelan lets out a choked laugh. “I need you to be Dad’s date to my wedding.” Claude and Danny broke up ten years ago, so that’s going to be awkward.

Romantic Motherfucking Best, lightgetsin Tyler Seguin/Jamie Benn, NC-17, ~14k Jamie’s supposed to boyfriend this shit right up, and Tyler wants to see that. 

Dream the Right Dream, Ferritin4 Alexander Ovechkin/Nicklas Backstrom, NC-17, ~14k It takes him two months, one more heat, and the NHL omega entry course before he realizes that he was meant to let one of them take him through it.They don’t do it like that in Sweden.

Friday Night Arrives Without a Suitcase, marycontraire Claude Giroux/Danny Briere, R, ~15k Danny and Claude move to Berlin. Nothing really changes, until everything does.

(break something old) to build something new, Lake Claude Giroux/Danny Briere, R, ~16k In which Danny retires after being bought out by the Flyers in the summer of 2013 and stays in New Jersey, only to end up babysitting Claude's kid all the time.  

The Kindness of Strangers, angularmomentum Alexander Ovechkin/Nicklas Backstrom, NC-17, ~17k Nicke has created a life of careful boundaries. (AU)

the year I got you alone, Lake Mike Richards/Jeff Carter, NC-17, ~19k “Let’s admit, without apology, what we do to each other.” - Richard Siken 

Worse Than A Boy Who Hates You, omelet Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin, NC-17, ~21k The first time Sidney Crosby meets Evgeni Malkin, the crowd is on their feet and roaring and he’s flat on his ass on the ice, staring up at Malkin’s face haloed by the glaring stadium lights. (Rival teams AU.)

Just What Was Rumpelstiltskin Expecting to Do with a Baby, Anyway?, withershins Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin, PG-13, ~25k Turning to a witch to save a loved one’s life is one of the riskier gambles a person can take, but it’s one that’s arguably noble and brave. Falling in love with the witch, though—now that’s just foolish.  (AU)

the washington royals, screamlet Alexander Ovechkin/Nicklas Backstrom, NC-17, ~45k An arranged marriage—or, an arrangement and a marriage. (Royalty AU.)

Fastening One Heart to Every Falling Thing, thefourthvine Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin, NC-17, ~52k Geno can’t. Sidney won’t. (Soul-bond AU.)

The Woman In Blue, Ferritin4 Alexander Ovechkin/Nicklas Backstrom, NC-17, ~54k Nicklas had been going to visit demons ever since he had taken his vows at nineteen. He could talk to God as well as the next man, and if he brought up the right topics, God had a way of listening. Sasha had been going to visit demons ever since Nicklas had found him with claws and in chains so long ago, and if God did not listen to him, it was not for lack of encouragement to the Lord on Nicklas’s part. (Fairytale AU.)

King and Lionheart, thehoyden Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin, NC-17, ~56k Sidney’s wedding day doesn’t go quite as he’d planned. He hadn’t imagined this hurried affair on the tarmac on a rainy and unseasonably cool day in early September, a month after his twenty-fifth birthday. (Arranged marriage AU.)

All The Way Through, sevenfists Sidney Crosby/Evgeni Malkin, NC-17, ~83k “I hope you’re going to tell me that you’re in a loving, committed, long-term relationship,” Jen said. / “Well. No,” Sidney said. “We’re—it’s a casual thing.” / “Not anymore,” Jen said. “Congratulations, you’re in love.”  

...BACK TO YOU. (rapidly flipping lights on and off again)