Что почитать: свежие записи из разных блогов

Записи с тэгом #Ethics Becomes Aesthetics из разных блогов

Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»

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I told myself to stay away. What was broken in me was broken. No оne could fix it. And I did the opposite.

Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»

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His mind is a diamond. Cold and hard and brilliant.

Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»

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By touch, by smell.

I would know him blind

I would know him in death.

Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»

H/L/

-Being alone comes with a dull ache, doesn’t it?

-It can.

 

Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»

H/B/

Today I can оnly say that I love you too much for my repose, because after this August and September, I feel that I can оnly live near you, and that your absence, is death.

Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»

S/P/

I am sending back the key

that let me into bluebeard's study;

because he would make love to me

I am sending back the key;

in his eye's darkroom I can see

my X-rayed heart, dissected body :

I am sending back the key

that let me into bluebeard's study.

Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»

V/H/

My angel will sleep in my arms, will awaken in my arms, will live there.

 

Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»

C/H/

Who could blame me for seeing оnly what I wanted to see? Who could accuse me of anything? I loved everything that didn’t love me back; it was the easiest thing in the world. Back then, I believed in change. I believed scaffolding was the same thing as structure. I thought I could build it.

Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»

C/A/D/

If I was dead,

and my bones adrift

like dropped oars

in the deep, turning earth;

 

or drowned,

and my skull

a listening shell

on the dark ocean bed;

 

if I was dead,

and my heart

soft mulch

for a red, red rose;

 

or burned,

and my body

a fistful of grit, thrown

in the face of the wind;

 

if I was dead,

and my eyes,

blind at the roots of flowers,

wept into nothing,

 

I swear your love

would raise me

out of my grave,

in my flesh and blood,

 

like Lazarus;

hungry for this,

and this, and this,

your living kiss.

Beramode, блог «Faded Fantasy»

C/A/D/

Uninvited, the thought of you stayed too late in my head,

so I went to bed, dreaming you hard, hard, woke with your name,

like tears, soft, salt, оn my lips, the sound of its bright syllables

like a charm, like a spell.

 

Falling in love

is glamorous hell; the crouched, parched heart

like a tiger ready to kill; a flame’s fierce licks under the skin.

Into my life, larger than life, beautiful, you strolled in.

 

I hid in my ordinary days, in the long grass of routine,

in my camouflage rooms. You sprawled in my gaze,

staring back from anyone’s face, from the shape of a cloud,

from the pining, earth-struck moon which gapes at me

 

as I open the bedroom door. The curtains stir. There you are

on the bed, like a gift, like a touchable dream.

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