The Concupiscent Concubine
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“There is a language older by far and deeper than words. It is the language of bodies, of body on body, wind on snow, rain on trees, wave on stone. It is the language of dream, gesture, symbol, memory. We have forgotten this language. We do not even remember that it exists.” — A Language Older Than Words, Derrick Jensen (via clutchtightly)(via rascalcub)
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The night hides my desires
The stars are secret keepers
To whom I whisper all my hopes
My wants, my needs, my dreams
They know whose name
I breathlessly whisper
When my imagination takes me
Skyward to meet with
The other half of my heart
The missing piece of my soul
Where I can place a kiss
Upon his lips
Where my hand finds shelter
In his hand
And where, as the moon shines on,
I smile and wish him,
Forever and always,
The happiest and brightest
Of sun-dappled days
Filled with smiles and love.The night hides my desires
The stars are secret keepers
In them live forever
All my “What if“‘s
And “Hope to be“‘s
And wistful sighs. -
“I would kiss you in the middle of a lightning storm. I would kiss you knowing it would kill me, cause I’d rather be left for dead than left to wonder what thunder sounds like.” — Andrea Gibson, Wasabi (via briannadiane)(via missclassy-and-intimate)
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Chuck Palahniuk, Fight Club
(via rainydaysandblankets)
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“Socializing is as exhausting as giving blood. People assume we loners are misanthropes just sitting thinking, ‘Oh, people are such a bunch of assholes,’ but it’s really not like that. We just have a smaller tolerance for what it takes to be with others. It means having to perform. I get so tired of communicating.” — Anneli Rufus (via wordsthat-speak)(via child-of-the-universe)
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It felt as if one’s entire world was one, long Sunday afternoon. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go.
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“So it is with minds. Unless you keep them busy with some definite subject that will bridle and control them, they throw themselves in disorder hither and yon in the vague field of imagination….And there is no mad or idle fancy that they do not bring forth in the agitation.” — Michel de Montaigne (via 9amatistas)(via wicked-naughty-diva)
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(via lucaslevi)
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“At moments she seems non-human, because she is so unconscious of her acts, unfettered by human considerations or hesitations. She lives as if in a dream, in innumerable impulses and whims, plunging into relationships, destroying unintentionally in her fiery course. She is so busy just being, talking, walking, making love, drinking, that she can achieve nothing else. She refuses to contemplate the meaning of direction in her life. She lives within chaos. So she is just being. Nothing can control her. She is our fantasy let loose upon the world. She does what others do only in their dreams. Mindless, the life of our unconscious without control. There is a fantastic courage in this, to live without laws, without fetters, without thought of consequences. I look with awe on her impulsiveness, her recklessness; She enriches me more than tender devotions of others, the measured loves, the considerate cautiousness of others. I will love her back and enrich her as well.” — Anaïs Nin, The Diary Of Anaïs Nin Volume I 1931-1934 (via violentwavesofemotion) -
“The anus [is] this amazing thing that nobody appreciates. Here’s this ring of muscle with nerves that has to discriminate between solid, liquid, and gas, and let it out accordingly. He’s like, “No engineer could design something as multifunctional and fine-tuned as an anus. To call someone an asshole is really bragging him up.” That was the moment I thought, “Oh yeah, this could be an interesting book.” —Why “Asshole” Is High Praise and Other Anatomy Lessons With Mary Roach
Over some beers and grilled cheese, we talked to author Mary Roach about indelicate things such as rectal smuggling (three phones at a time!?!), fake poop, and chewing diets. Intrigued? Disgusted? Check out her new book, Gulp!
(via motherjones)(via thatsnotmyhand)
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“To have her here in bed with me, breathing on me, her hair in my mouth- I count that something of a miracle.” — Henry Miller (via rainydaysandblankets)(via missclassy-and-intimate)
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“Intelligence has always had a pornographic influence on me.” — Toni Morrison (via taraghmeni)(via yourclassyslut)
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“Blake said that the body was the soul’s prison unless the five senses are fully developed and open. He considered the senses the ‘windows of the soul.’ When sex involves all the senses intensely, it can be like a mystical experience.” — ― Jim Morrison (via theladycheeky) -
“I used to be a hopeless romantic. I am still a hopeless romantic. I used to believe that love was the highest value. I still believe that love is the highest value. I don’t expect to be happy. I don’t imagine that I will find love, whatever that means, or that if I do find it, it will make me happy. I don’t think of love as the answer or the solution. I think of love as a force of nature - as strong as the sun, as necessary, as impersonal, as gigantic, as impossible, as scorching as it is warming, as drought-making as it is live-giving. And when it burns out, the planet dies. My little orbit of life circles love. I dare not get any closer. I’m not a mystic seeking final communion. I don’t go out without SPF 15. I protect myself. But today, when the sun is everywhere, and everything solid is nothing but its own shadow, I know that the real things in life, the things I remember, the things I turn over in my hands, are not houses, bank accounts, prizes or promotions. What I remember is love - all love - love of this dirt road, this sunrise, a day by the river, the stranger I met in a café. Myself, even, which is the hardest thing of all to love, because love and selfishness are not the same thing. It is easy to be selfish. It is hard to love who I am. No wonder I am surprised if you do.” — Jeanette Winterson; ”Lighthousekeeping” (via violentwavesofemotion)(via lifeinpoetry)
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“Something changes the moment you decide you’ve found a person you are ready to reveal parts of your soul to. Something stands out and makes the moment unique. A profound multidimensional clarity resembling a piece of carefully gathered stardust; As if you are whispering “finally” and your eyes fill with light and spontaneity. As if you do not care whether your heart will melt or crumble in the process because your brief courage undoes your tremendous fear of disbelief. You live for these moments; For you are, maybe for one second or more, sweetly forced to surrender yourself to unconditional intimacy. A moment of psychological reward smashing all self-imposed disciplines founded on terror. This is all you need.” — Anaïs Nin, The Diary of Anaïs Nin, Vol. 1: 1931-1934 (via ethostheatre)
