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virus meadow

@virusmeadow / virusmeadow.tumblr.com

smiling with matches in her mouth / smell of gasoline in her hair / in her stare burns a solar flare
I want to be ripped apart by music. I want it to be something that feeds and replenishes, or that totally sucks the life out of you. I want to be dashed against the rocks.

Jeff Buckley

Music is storming, driving, relentless, devotional, slinky, subtle, heartbreakingly-beautiful sounds that, lyrically, switch from the cynical to the sanguine, the defeated to the defiant, dealing in love, war, beauty, children, romance, rejection, Pethedine, poetry, panties, God, Auden, Johnny Cash, cold potatoes, too-much-money, not enough money, writer’s block, flowers, animals and more flowers. But maybe I’m projecting here.

Nick Cave

Don’t even think of trying to redeem me. I regret NOTHING. No woman with any self-respect would have done less. The question of good and the nature of evil will always be one of philosophy’s most intriguing problems, up there with the problem of existence itself. I’m not quarreling with your choice of issues, only with your intellectually diminished approach. If evil means to be self-motivated, to be the center of one’s own universe, to live on one’s own terms, then every artist, every thinker, every original mind, is evil. Because we dare to look through our own eyes rather than mouth clichés lent us from the so-called Fathers. To dare to see is to steal fire from the Gods. This is mankind’s destiny, the engine which fuels us as a race. Three cheers for Eve.

Janet Fitch, from White Oleander

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last night i dreamed that i touched you; it hurt, your skin covered in thistles. you said - see, i told you this would be no good, i told you i am pain - but when i let go i stared down at my bleeding palms and they had stopped shaking. i dreamt that i loved you, and i woke up and it was still true; i’ll curl my fingers over the thorns jutting out from your hips, i’ll slice myself open, if you’ll kiss me and wear down the rock in my throat. i prayed to you, and in my dreams you answered, told me i was delusional, reckless, but you came to me anyway and i put your hands sharp like knives on my chest and pleaded, pleaded for you to slow my heart down, just for a moment. kiss me again, let me taste the blood, i prayed for you and you came, you came, let me taste you again.

on loving an angel of war // s.t. (via breadorflesh)

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