drunkwhenimadethis:

No, no, she wasn’t lost, she was even going to make a list of things she could do! She sat with a blank page and wrote: eat — look at fruit in the market — see people’s faces — feel love — feel hate — have something not known and feel an unbearable suffering — wait impatiently for the beloved — sea — go into the sea — buy a new swimsuit — make coffee — look at objects — listen to music — holding hands — irritation — be right — not be right and give in to someone who is — be forgiven for the vanity of living — be a woman — do myself credit — laugh at the absurdity of my condition — have no choice — have a choice — fall asleep — but of bodily love I shall not speak. After the list she still didn’t know who she was, but she knew a great many things she could do.

— Clarice Lispector, An Apprenticeship or The Book of Pleasures

pathologising:

one thing about me is that I am going to cry

lifeinpoetry:

“I can’t translate myself into language any more.”

— Alice Notley, from “Ruby Goes to Pieces,” Culture of One