Soliloquy of the Solipsist
I walk alone;
The midnight street
Spins itself from under my feet;
When my eyes shut
These dreaming houses all snuff out;
Through a whim of mine
Over gables the moon’s celestial onion
Make houses shrink
And trees diminish
By going far; my look’s leash
Dangles the puppet-people
Who, unaware how they dwindle,
Laugh, kiss, get drunk,
Nor guess that if I choose to blink
When in good humor,
Give grass its green
Blazon sky blue, and endow the sun
Yet, in my wintriest moods, I hold
To boycott color and forbid any flower
I know you appear
Vivid at my side,
Denying you sprang out of my head,
Claiming you feel
Love fiery enough to prove flesh real,
Though it’s quite clear
All your beauty, all your wit, is a gift, my dear,
—Sylvia Plath (1956)
I look so forward to the year ahead. There is much work always, but it is happy work, and I am loved, and I love, and everything is sweet and sensible.
Letters Home (December 7, 1954)
"I exist in two places,
here and where you are"
Margaret Atwood, Selected Poems (1965-1975)
"We lose weeks like buttons, like pencils."
Dave Eggers, from “A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius” (via weissewiese)
"Maybe you’re the one who needs to fucking change, maybe then you’ll appreciate the difference between negativity and critical thinking. Maybe you have to change, maybe then you’ll appreciate my black soul."
Ray from Girls
I’m Peggy Olson, and I want to smoke marijuana.