Felt so good, I could die a beautiful death, slipping away calmly, quietly. I remember, I remember what it was like the first time I felt the rush, when my heart clenched up and stopped and I felt like I didn’t need to breathe anymore. So I sank, I let myself sink all the way down to the bottom, to the depths, and there I died for a little while, treading the line between existence and oblivion. The moment stretches on into an eternity until the heart starts to beat again, and breathing resumes.
That first breath you take when you surface feels like coming back to life from the dead. Life and death, over and over again for the next four years. It was all I ever wanted, all I ever wanted to feel back then. Alot like love, or better, but really not. The good things you felt the night before wear off by the time you wake up, and you start coming down and withdrawing. It’s bad, I don’t like it at all. Like going to hell and dying slowly on the way. If there’s more, good. If not, you call someone. Sometimes the well has run dry, and there is no choice but to try and hold yourself together and wait until the bad feelings go away.
I didn’t want to die, so I walked away. I don’t want that beautiful feeling anymore, because after that nothing else ever feels that good, and nothing good can come out of something that makes you feel that way. It’s no way to live.
You are a little like that. I dread seeing you again, my friend. I don’t want it anymore, it’s not me. It’s not me anymore. Progress. I don’t want to go back to that place before where I had to tread lightly.
I don’t want you, I don’t want anything. Do you know Greta Garbo? ”I want to be left alone.”
hahahahahahaha that’s quite funny
Man tries to sell his car following the stock market crash c.1929
French dancer, photographic model and actress Lili Damita (July 10, 1904 – March 21, 1994, active between 1922 and 1937) photographed by Alex Binder.
Her real name was Liliane Marie-Madeleine Carré.
I hate ECPs, they are like PMS and coming down combined. It really does your head in, feeling stretched thin from everything everyone everyday work trying to get things done and keep things going can’t stop, can’t stop now, can’t wait for thursday. I could be mad at you, but I’m not. I’m just tired and numb. You’re a kid, you don’t know any better. No you really don’t.
I’m not going to give myself grief over this.
Your behaviour is not my problem, at all,
but you might as well have gone to a whore.
Maya Angelou (April 4, 1928 - May 28, 2014)
James Baldwin… said that “when you’re writing you’re trying to find out something you didn’t know.” When you write do you search for something that you didn’t know about yourself or about us?
Yes. When I’m writing, I am trying to find out who I am, who we are, what we’re capable of, how we feel, how we lose and stand up, and go on from darkness into darkness. I’m trying for that. But I’m also trying for the language. I’m trying to see how it can really sound. I really love language. I love it for what it does for us, how it allows us to explain the pain and the glory, the nuances and the delicacies of our existence. And then it allows us to laugh, allows us to show wit. Real wit is shown in language. We need language.
The premiere of Star Wars at Grauman’s Chinese Theatre on Hollywood Blvd. May 25, 1977
Wounded Japanese child and American pilot, Saipan, 1944
Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison, 1968
Soviet troops withdrawing from Afghanistan, 1988.
Coney Island, July 4, 1946 -