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“Whether we wound or are wounded, the blood that flows is red.”
―
―
“As long as I can make them laugh, it doesn’t matter how, I’ll be alright. If I succeed in that, the human beings probably won’t mind it too much if I remain outside their lives. The one thing I must avoid is becoming offensive in their eyes: I shall be nothing, the wind, the sky.”
― No Longer Human
― No Longer Human
“The weak fear happiness itself. They can harm themselves on cotton wool. Sometimes they are wounded even by happiness”
― No Longer Human
― No Longer Human
“I have always shook with fright before human beings. Unable as I was to feel the least particle of confidence in my ability to speak and act like a human being, I kept my solitary agonies locked in my breast. I kept my melancholy and my agitation hidden, careful lest any trace should be left exposed. I feigned an innocent optimism; I gradually perfected myself in the role of the farcical eccentric.”
― No Longer Human
― No Longer Human
“This is a Personal Poem
My self's self is thinking about itself.
Trying to sell its self a new self.
Don't worry, reader,
I'm not trying to fool you with language,
I have eyes to do that with.
I have forgotten our history,
I have forgotten how we met.
Reader, are you upset at how fast we're moving?
I'm likely with you in your bed,
between your hands, somewhere
in your mouth before
whatever it is you'll say next.
Say yes and now and love too.
Say what did Judith Butler say when saying,
" … one is undone, in the face of the other,
by the touch, by the scent, by the feel,
by the prospect of the touch,
by the memory of the feel."
I want to know you, reader.
I want to know a lot of things.
Can we ever truly forget about ourselves?
Is every self a self that makes itself available to love?
Like death. And its kind availability.
Like language, reader,
would we still be so unhappy if we could escape it?
To name the namelessness that is love,
in what we read, and what we see,
and what are feelings really?
Facts or flaws,
or something tells me now
that I must leave you, reader.
It's not you, it's me.
We guess at why things end,
we ruin things, we start and stall,
and all all all we do
is want.”
― Begging for It
My self's self is thinking about itself.
Trying to sell its self a new self.
Don't worry, reader,
I'm not trying to fool you with language,
I have eyes to do that with.
I have forgotten our history,
I have forgotten how we met.
Reader, are you upset at how fast we're moving?
I'm likely with you in your bed,
between your hands, somewhere
in your mouth before
whatever it is you'll say next.
Say yes and now and love too.
Say what did Judith Butler say when saying,
" … one is undone, in the face of the other,
by the touch, by the scent, by the feel,
by the prospect of the touch,
by the memory of the feel."
I want to know you, reader.
I want to know a lot of things.
Can we ever truly forget about ourselves?
Is every self a self that makes itself available to love?
Like death. And its kind availability.
Like language, reader,
would we still be so unhappy if we could escape it?
To name the namelessness that is love,
in what we read, and what we see,
and what are feelings really?
Facts or flaws,
or something tells me now
that I must leave you, reader.
It's not you, it's me.
We guess at why things end,
we ruin things, we start and stall,
and all all all we do
is want.”
― Begging for It
Omnia’s 2025 Year in Books
Take a look at Omnia’s Year in Books, including some fun facts about their reading.
182 books
|
7 friends
82 books
|
10 friends
1,426 books
|
32 friends
235 books
|
4 friends
118 books
|
8 friends
45 books
|
4 friends
106 books
|
192 friends
51 books
|
4 friends
More friends…
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