"Don’t fall in love with a woman who reads
A woman who feels too much
A woman who writes
Don’t fall in love with a woman that’s cultured, delirious and crazy
Don’t fall in love with a woman that knows how to fly
A woman that knows how to turn her flesh into soul
And most importantly...don’t fall in love with a woman who loves poetry
A woman that stands in front of a painting for a long time
And can’t live without music
Don’t fall in love with a woman that’s strong and won’t bow down
You wouldn’t want to fall in love with a woman like that
Because if you fall for her
And whether she stays with you or not
Or if she loves you first
From a woman like this no one comes back...no one returns..."

PERIODT!!!!!

If my pain disappears, if it joins the unseen, if it leaves my mind, who am I?

Depression wasn't the word this was a plunge encompassing sorrow and revulsion far beyond the personal a sick drenching nausea at all humanity and human endeavor from the dawn of time the writhing loathsomeness of the biologic order old age, sickness, death, no escape for anyone even the beautiful ones were like soft fruit about to spoil and yet somehow people still kept fucking and breeding and popping out new fodder for the grave producing more and more new beings to suffer like this was some kind of redemptive or good or even somehow morally admirable thing dragging more innocent creatures into the lose-lose game. Squirming babies and plodding complacent, hormone drugged game. Oh, isn't he cute? Awww. Kids shouting and skidding in the playground with no idea what future hells awaited them: boring jobs and ruinous mortgages and bad marriages and hair loss and hip replacement and lonely cups of coffee in an empty house and a colostomy bag at the hospital. Most people seem satisfied with ths thin decorative glaze and the artful stage lighting that, sometimes made the bedrock atroctiy of the human predicament look somewhat more mysterious or less abhorrent
People gambled and golfed and planted gardens and traded socks and had sex and bought new cars and practiced yoga and worked and prayed and redecorated their homes and got worked up over the news and fussed over their children and gossiped about their neighbors and pored over restaurant reviews and founded charitable organizations and supported political candidates and attended the U.S open and dined and traveled and distracted themselves with all kinds of gadgets and devices, flooding themselves incessantly with information and texts and communication and entertainment from every direction to try to make themselves forget it: where we are, what we are. But in a strong light there was no good spin you could put on it. It was rotten top to bottom. Putting your time in at the office; dutifully spawning your two point five; smiling politely at your retirement party; then chewing on your bedsheet and choking on your canned peaches at the nursing home. It was better never to have been born, never to have wanted anything, never to have hoped for anything.


- The goldfinch by Donna tartt

"I hope it helps you build a garden inside of yourself"

Sleep well🤍

Have you ever been afraid of what you are becoming?

How it's like to fight voices.

The world will not open its door to you, without asking it questions. Alone outside the room, your rats are running away from your fear, your cats are starting to prefer bananas, and your stones are questions. Be annoying, stone your not, stone your disorganized presence, and kill your question marks with the hammer of wandering.

In the stones of my questions, I was looking for a house to answer how many questions. Oh margin of life, how many questions do you want answered in order to reveal its leg?

I want another picture of me, I want to reveal me in front of me, to be naked in my ignorance: How do I play the piano without a chair? How do I become a shoe seller in two days? I'm not unemployed, I'm a shoe salesman, waiting for war survivors' feet.

How can I embrace anxiety with his young children? How can I be rude with pain? How do I understand shoulder language? I found nests on my shoulders, with a lot of coughing.

How do I sing like a crow? How do I carry full names that won't confuse pronouncing for others? As my sweetheart's name. How can I be friends with a woman without looking at her chest? My questions have the right to know the answer lobby.

How to escape today from the calendar? How do the fingers organize their time? And at what time does the void cap bend? How do mistakes feel its guilt? I want to feel my guilt. How does asphalt sleep behind the night? How plastic becomes a way to hide? When does the chatter stop eating? When does the cinema go to people watching?

The dead man who walks inside me, wonders: Who made a tombstone for the death of the Latin language? Who hears paper crying first: the table or the trash? Why is there no union for the trash can? The fish and the sea, who is spying on the other? Who knows in chess game? That the king is sexually exploiting us. I want to know will I be present when I die? It is my right to be there I want to say goodbye to me.

"My mother will tell you that I was a quite child,I will tell you I was born screaming and everyone looked away. I once went 119 on the highway and noone stopped me. I once dug my name into my thigh and noone bothered to pronounce. I once called my body sand and lying drawn with a razor and noone bothered to pronounce it. THAT KIND OF INVISIBLE CAN MAKE A GIRL DISAPPEAR INTO ANY MOUTH."
~Desireé

Figuring this out will only cause more pain,I don't wanna feel more pain.