Status Updates From Les Vagues

The truth is that I am not one of those who find their satisfaction in one person, or in infinity. The private room bores me, also the sky. My being only glitters when all its facets are exposed to many people. Let them fail and I am full of holes, dwindling like burnt paper.

memory is a mud-stained poem. “This is poetry if we do not write it” (as we do not); “the poet who has written this page (what I read with people talking) has withdrawn. There are no commas or semi-colons. The lines do not run in convenient lengths. Much is sheer nonsense. (Neville, 142)

thinking of u bel 🥰

again and again ❤️‍🩹

from just the first chapter i already know that i prefer this to mrs dalloway

pour l’instant je m’ennuie infiniment

had to go back a few pages to know where i was at 😜

"'Let me then create you. (You have done as much for me.)"

The entirety of Chapter 11 >>>>>>>>>>>>>

"There was a star riding through clouds one night, and I said to the star, "Consume me." "

"But I am also one who will force himself to desert these windy and moonlit territories, these midnight wanderings, and confront grained oak doors. I will achieve in my life — Heaven grant that it be not long — some gigantic amalgamation between the two discrepancies so hideously apparent to me."