Love's ruinage.: Archive

Forever yours I am, like the ocean to the sand.

Hello. :)

Just a lame post about how much I love my friends.

See, I’m in a trio with two lovely girls by the names of Jessica & Evelyn,

& I love them both a million.

Here goes:

Jessica Claire Edwards

I can only say this on tumblr, obviously I could never be nice to you to your face (that would just be embarrassing, for both of us), but I LOVE YOU.

Yes, we may insult each other a tad too often, (or maybe just insult Evee a tad too often) but I most likely couldn’t live without you.

& I know that you’re more than indifferent towards me. You just hide it reaaaally well.

You give me a verbal slap across the face when I’m being an idiot, & you balance out all my crazy.

Also, your boyfriend is an evil warlord. You really should do something about that.

So thank you Jess, for putting up with all my crap; making my train journeys to school (or maybe just life in general) amusing; & letting me call my mum on your phone all the time.

I love you Svenska, yaaaahhh :)

Evelyn Araluen Anne Eleanore Corr

Man your name is long. Anywho, I love you Eveebucket, you’ve been there since the beginning, sharing chocoholic muffins with me at Gloria Jeans in the Village (generally bought by you, because I’m a great friend).

You scare me sometimes, what with your obsession with Phantom of the Opera & married Sumo Salad guys & all, as well as looking up Pemberley on Google Earth. Yet I continually hang around you… strange.

I love you & your family (yes, your one million siblings & everything), but I really think you should lay off the Windsor water.

Jamming with you in our frees is amazing, you talented girl you ^____^.

But mostly I just like your sexy face.

Je t’aime beaucoup :)

Mar 30, 2010

“It seems to me more and more clear that the only honest people are the artists.” —Virginia Woolf (via awritersruminations) (via booklover)

Mar 30, 201086 notes

Mar 30, 2010157 notes

“The last few months I’ve been living with this couple.
Yeah, you know, the kind who buy everything in doubles.
They fit together like a puzzle.
And I love their love and I am thankful,
that someone actually
receives the prize that was promised
by all those fairy tales that drugged us.
And they still do me,
I’m sick,
lonely,
no laurel tree,
just green envy.
Will my number come up eventually?
Like love’s some kind of lottery,
where you can scratch and see what’s underneath.
It’s “sorry”,
just one cherry,
“play again.”
Get lucky.” —Waste Of Paint - Bright Eyes

Mar 28, 2010

“Now I know what loneliness is , I think…It comes from a vague core of the self—like a disease of the blood, dispersed throughout the body so that one cannot locate the matrix, the spot of contagion…Homesick is the name they give to that sick feeling which dominates me now. I am alone in my room, between two worlds…There is no living being on earth at this moment except myself. I could walk down the halls, and empty rooms would yawn mockingly at me from every side. God, but life is loneliness, despite all the opiates, despite the shrill tinsel gaiety of “parties” with no purpose, despite the false grinning faces we all wear.” —Sylvia Plath (via awritersruminations) (via booklover)

Mar 28, 2010106 notes

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Mar 26, 2010795 notes

Mar 26, 20101,788 notes

Mar 26, 2010364 notes

Mar 26, 2010140 notes

Mar 26, 20101,493 notes

Small as a doll in my dress of innocence.

Updated my deviantART, HOLLLLLAAAAAAAAA.

www.ritalinrainbows.deviantart.com

Still a work in progress though.

———

I’ve decided that I’m generally trying to create more.

(This, for me, means writing obviously, because I am useless at anything else.)

So last night I got the ball rolling with a somewhat shoddy poem (I really should not write poetry… I should stick to my weird hybrid of poetic prose), which is now on my deviantART, which, in turn, I’m trying to update more often.

Here’s hoping.

Mar 26, 2010

“You ask me why I spend my life writing?
Do I find entertainment?
Is it worthwhile?
Above all, does it pay?
If not, then, is there a reason? …
I write only because
There is a voice within me
That will not be still.” —Sylvia Plath (from Waking Up) (via crashinglybeautiful) (via awritersruminations) (via breathingbooks)

Mar 24, 2010276 notes

“No poet, no artist of any sort, has his complete meaning alone. His significance, his appreciation is the appreciation of his relation to the dead poets and artists.” —T.S. Eliot (via awritersruminations) (via booklover)

Mar 24, 201041 notes

“Great literature is simply language charged with meaning to the utmost possible degree.” —Ezra Pound (via awritersruminations) (via booklover)

Mar 24, 201045 notes

Mar 24, 20101,022 notes

Mar 24, 2010

Mar 24, 2010453 notes

Mar 24, 2010673 notes

My heart under your foot, sister of a stone.

Hello.

So, not sure if anyone actually reads this drivel (& by that I mean what I actually write here, as opposed to what I reblog, which tends to be amazing),

but it’s late & I have so much… debris scattered throughout my mind right now.

SO hence the post.

Today was weird, if I said it was a rollercoaster ride of emotions I would feel dirty & cheap (as I generally do when I use cliches, which consequently is not often), however this seems to be the most fitting description I can conjure up when it’s nearly midnight. (I know I am lame for saying this is late, however having done my first exam today I think you’ll forgive me.)

Yeah, so I did my Eng Adv exam & spewed out some dreary depressing crap for my creative writing, as is my want.

Don’t want to go into details but today was a cocktail of exhaustion, relief, accomplishment, bitter memories & catharsis. Yes, all in the one day.

I am sleepy now, & my eyelids are drooping (making this rather difficult to type), & I keep making ridiculous spelling mistakes. I think it’s time I admitted defeat & curled up with the wonderful Mister Tolstoy & his delightful Anna Karenina.

I am a total nerd, I know, but I love words - there are so many; they’re always evolving, taking on new meanings… language, like life, is dynamic, & somehow I take solace in this.

Enough with this strange, fragmented shambles of a post.

Night x

——-

The second time I meant

To last it out and not come back at all.

I rocked shut

As a seashell.

They had to call and call

And pick the worms off me like sticky pearls.

Dying

Is an art, like everything else.

I do it exceptionally well.

Mar 22, 2010