transparentcupcakewolf-blog

[transparentcupcakewolf-blog]

Louis de Bernières, Captain Corelli’s Mandolin (Love)

Love is a temporary madness, it erupts like volcanoes and then subsides. And when it subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate every second minute of the day, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every cranny of your body... That is just being "in love", which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.subsides you have to make a decision. You have to work out whether your roots have so entwined together that it is inconceivable that you should ever part. Because this is what love is. Love is not breathlessness, it is not excitement, it is not the promulgation of promises of eternal passion, it is not the desire to mate every second minute of the day, it is not lying awake at night imagining that he is kissing every cranny of your body... That is just being "in love", which any fool can do. Love itself is what is left over when being in love has burned away, and this is both an art and a fortunate accident. Your mother and I had it, we had roots that grew towards each other underground, and when all the pretty blossom had fallen from our branches we found that we were one tree and not two.

[transparentcupcakewolf-blog]

Found (unknown source)

Can I tell you a secret? You don’t have to be in a relationship.

I mean it. I know they force it down your throat until you choke on it. Girls aren’t pretty unless they’re wanted. Boys aren’t men unless they’re having sex with someone. People aren’t lovable until they’re dating someone.

But a relationship won’t always make you happy, and as wonderful as romance is, it isn’t the only love that exists. I have seen friendships that are deeper and more pure than couples who swear it’s forever - and yet the friendship is the one people ignore.

I have heard so often “nobody loves me” out of the mouths of people who are single. And it kills me because if you ask them: where are your parents, your teachers, your classmates, your pets - they say, yes, okay, but it doesn’t count. Of course it counts, love doesn’t diminish just because someone doesn’t want to have sex with you. In fact, doesn’t it sort of make that love more real that they want nothing - not even a date - out of you?

It is pretty to be in love. It’s magical, I’m sure. But it’s also wonderful to stop for ice cream in your prom dress with six other girls. It’s also wonderful to go visit the world with nothing but a bunch of buddies who are really excited about learning.

The problem is: we’ve made everything about “the one”. But maybe “the one” is just you, loving yourself, having fun, and being happy. Maybe instead of looking for our other halves, we should be piecing ourselves together.

Maybe I wasn’t born unfinished. Maybe I am the one who makes myself better.

[transparentcupcakewolf-blog]

Exactly.

[transparentcupcakewolf-blog]

Mad Girl’s Love Song by Sylvia Plath (1932-1963) Read by Natalie Clark

I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead; I lift my lids and all is born again. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red, And arbitrary blackness gallops in: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade: Exit seraphim and Satan’s men: I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you’d return the way you said. But I grow old and I forget your name. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead; At least when spring comes they roar back again. I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.)

[transparentcupcakewolf-blog]

Love is a springtime plant that perfumes everything with its hope, even the ruins to which it clings.

~ Gustave Flaubert

[transparentcupcakewolf-blog]

[transparentcupcakewolf-blog]

Quite positively malignant

“…the most awful (sub)human I’ve ever had the misfortune of being involved with. Quite positively malignant.” Behind his glittering titles and soft voice lies a sneaky, smarmy, cruel, platitudinous, disrespectful, workaholic, trivia-loving effete coward who uses, abuses, silences, lies and cheats to get what he believes his measly little self-loathing self is entitled to. Being involved with a narcissist is a very unique experience: it is not like a normal relationship or break up. In normal break ups, of course there is heartbreak and sadness, but you don’t feel a malignant force — something quite evil. One writer described his experience with a narcissist as feeling like a vice was clamping down on his head, squeezing it and giving him constant migraines. I nearly jumped out of my chair when I heard his description, for it was exactly how I felt when in the throes of confusion, frustration and hurt during my relationship with a narcissist. I think this powerful physiological response occurs because because the narcissist turns reality on its head. Suddenly, you find yourself ignoring or questioning your previously held convictions about morality — about what’s good to do and what good people are like — and you enter a severely distorted, dark world. You then try to reconcile the new distorted world with your old one, and you find that this is hard — impossible, in fact — to do. This breaking of logic is what I believe causes this extreme physical pain. The popular media has a tendency to make out narcissists as sub-human, as not amenable to the normal rules of societal and interpersonal relations — almost as a separate species or operating on a separate plane of reality. This is certainly true for the most part, for ‘normal’ ethical intuitions and practices do not really concern them. Or, they only bother with them insofar as they serve their aims (being polite, charming and interesting; being employed in a prestigious profession; being ‘kind’ and ‘compassionate’). But they are still people, however deeply disturbed. They act this way because they carry around an unbelievable amount of hurt which they try to assuage in their various unsavoury ways. The fact that something is generally considered unethical does not stop them because the need to cover over their pain is all-consuming. I think the best way to deal with them, as that same writer said, is to think of them as sad, empty, lonely individuals in great pain. Only by refusing to play according to the narcissist’s distorted rules, by stepping outside of them and into the light of what you know to be ethical, can you escape the debilitating pain and frustration they cause.

[transparentcupcakewolf-blog]

You are wearing those sad eyes for too long now. Isn’t it the time to be happy again? There are thousand kinds of love out there. Do not suffer because of him——because of your love for him. Love wouldn’t feel like hell if you are holding the right kind.

J.DG (via iamjomaried)

[transparentcupcakewolf-blog]

#goldenhour #figtree #figs #sunlit #gold #naturallight #lastlight #komorebi #dappledlight #leaves #canopy

[transparentcupcakewolf-blog]

The sea does not reward those who are too anxious, too greedy, or too impatient. One should lie empty, open, choiceless as a beach – waiting for a gift from the sea.

~ Anne Morrow Lindbergh

[transparentcupcakewolf-blog]

Sparkles and rainbows

That moment when you realise he’s a piece of shit.

[transparentcupcakewolf-blog]

[transparentcupcakewolf-blog]

[transparentcupcakewolf-blog]

Sailing To Byzantium by Willam Butler Yeats (1865-1939) Read by Denys Hawthorne

That is no country for old men. The young In one another’s arms, birds in the trees - Those dying generations - at their song, The salmon-falls, the mackerel-crowded seas, Fish, flesh, or fowl, commend all summer long Whatever is begotten, born, and dies. Caught in that sensual music all neglect Monuments of unageing intellect.

An aged man is but a paltry thing, A tattered coat upon a stick, unless Soul clap its hands and sing, and louder sing For every tatter in its mortal dress, Nor is there singing school but studying Monuments of its own magnificence; And therefore I have sailed the seas and come To the holy city of Byzantium.

O sages standing in God’s holy fire As in the gold mosaic of a wall, Come from the holy fire, perne in a gyre, And be the singing-masters of my soul. Consume my heart away; sick with desire And fastened to a dying animal It knows not what it is; and gather me Into the artifice of eternity.

Once out of nature I shall never take My bodily form from any natural thing, But such a form as Grecian goldsmiths make Of hammered gold and gold enamelling To keep a drowsy Emperor awake; Or set upon a golden bough to sing To lords and ladies of Byzantium Of what is past, or passing, or to come.

[transparentcupcakewolf-blog]

The Coward II

To cowards, even death is preferable to honesty. A la Kant: let them die.