.:The Red Angel:.

“Because horror on earth is real and it is everyday. It is like a flower or like the sun; it cannot be contained.” “The Lovely Bones” by Alice Sebold (via miss-lynne)

“Keep good company, read good books, love good things and cultivate soul and body as faithfully as you can” Louisa May Alcott, Rose In Bloom (via bookmania)

(via teachingliteracy)

“May the space between where I am and where I want to be inspire me.” Tracee Ellis Ross  (via daniellemertina)

(via unrequitemylove)

“Art and love are the same thing: It’s the process of seeing yourself in things that are not you.” Chuck Klosterman (via writersrelief)

“

If I were a cinnamon peeler
I would ride your bed
and leave the yellow bark dust
on your pillow.

Your breasts and shoulders would reek
you could never walk through markets
without the profession of my fingers
floating over you. The blind would
stumble certain of whom they approached
though you might bathe
under rain gutters, monsoon.

Here on the upper thigh
at this smooth pasture
neighbor to your hair
or the crease
that cuts your back. This ankle.
You will be known among strangers
as the cinnamon peeler’s wife.

I could hardly glance at you
before marriage
never touch you
— your keen nosed mother, your rough brothers.
I buried my hands
in saffron, disguised them
over smoking tar,
helped the honey gatherers…

When we swam once
I touched you in water
and our bodies remained free,
you could hold me and be blind of smell.
You climbed the bank and said

this is how you touch other women
the grasscutter’s wife, the lime burner’s daughter.
And you searched your arms
for the missing perfume.
and knew
what good is it
to be the lime burner’s daughter
left with no trace
as if not spoken to in an act of love
as if wounded without the pleasure of scar.

You touched
your belly to my hands
in the dry air and said
I am the cinnamon
peeler’s wife. Smell me.

”

The Cinnamon Peeler by Michael Ondaatje 

Reading him a lot lately, as muses go, you could do a lot worse.

(via bonfiresfornobody)

“The thing about a story is that you dream it as you tell it, hoping that others might then dream along with you, and in this way memory and imagination and language combine to make spirits in the head. There is the illusion of aliveness.” Tim O’Brien; The Things They Carried (via wordpainting)

(via writeworld)