April 2012
65 posts
The way in which you view the world and your arguments about such have become so convoluted it literally gives me a migraine trying to wrap my head around the layers of—wrongstupidwtfness.
Truly, I’m ashamed to know you. I’m ashamed to associate with you. I’m ashamed to have played any part in this.
Momma Was a Poet
I found some of my moms poetry online. Poetry.com.
Two different ones.
Wet Lands CottageBy Barbara Prosser
“I once lived by the sea some called it my Seaside Cottage
where I listened to the sounds of the sea and the seals, now
I’m living on the prairie by a sea of grass in a house made
of glass oh how the sounds so differ.”
By Barbara C Comando
“There once was a rose
I planted in the ground…
She grew-up ALL alone
with no other things around.
Standing sturdy,tall and strong
She never realized she didnt belong
Covered up by asphalt
her seed pushed thru
Reaching towards the heavens
her spirit Born anew.
Blooming in all her beauty
A living testament for You.
Aim for the heavens
keep your dreams insight
And all Your Beauty will Bloom
Even in the darkest night.”
There’s just so much I will never know about this woman. I wonder about her a lot.
Play
1:02
Breath Of Life
Florence + The Machine
Florence and the Machine - Breath of Life
New song written by Florence Welch for the soundtrack of Snow White and the Huntsman
Play
“The so-called ‘psychotically depressed’ person who tries to kill herself doesn’t do so out of quote ‘hopelessness’ or any abstract conviction that life’s assets and debits do not square. And surely not because death seems suddenly appealing. The person in whom Its invisible agony reaches a certain unendurable level will kill herself the same way a trapped person will eventually jump from the window of a burning high-rise. Make no mistake about people who leap from burning windows. Their terror of falling from a great height is still just as great as it would be for you or me standing speculatively at the same window just checking out the view; i.e. the fear of falling remains a constant. The variable here is the other terror, the fire’s flames: when the flames get close enough, falling to death becomes the slightly less terrible of two terrors. It’s not desiring the fall; it’s terror of the flames. And yet nobody down on the sidewalk, looking up and yelling ‘Don’t!’ and ‘Hang on!’, can understand the jump. Not really. You’d have to have personally been trapped and felt flames to really understand a terror way beyond falling.”
—writer David Foster Wallace, who committed suicide in 2008 (via libraryland)
interesting way of looking at it..
