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| I'm pretty much done with xanga. movin' on to bigger and better things. if any of you still care, I have a tumblr now, which has basically the same stuff you would've found on here, yet better ;) : http://llrowe.tumblr.com/
I also have a formspring, I'll love you forever if you ask me so much as ONE question. I'll answer anything, can't promise I wont be sarcastic though :3 : http://www.formspring.me/llaurenrowe < ask me, because you miss me? ;D | | |
| “People sometimes say that the way things happen in the movies is unreal, but actually it’s the way things happen to you in life that’s unreal. The movies make emotions look so strong and real, whereas when things really do happen to you, it’s like watching television — you don’t feel anything.”
How on Earth could I be any more obvious? It never really did, and now it’s never gonna happen with the two of us. I don’t understand what it is that you’re chasing after, but it makes me really sad to hear you sound so desperate. It just makes it harder.
My hand thinks I'm an artist, but my heart knows I'm a poet.
"People are too weak to follow their own dreams and will find every way possible to try and discourage yours. It’s a natural thing. Don’t curse it, bless it. Because these pathetic mother fuckers encourage my conceit."
You can pretend I dont exist, but you'll see my face every time you kiss.
The sun sliced through the windshield, sealing me in light. I closed my eyes and felt the warmth on my eyelids. Sunlight traveled a long distance to reach this planet; an infinitesimal portion of that sunlight was enough to warm my eyelids. I was moved. That something as insignificant as an eyelid had its place in the workings on the universe, that the cosmic order did not overlook this momentary fact.
Style doesn't matter when you're on your back, just remember that fact.
“But even so, every now and then I would feel a violent stab of loneliness. The very water I drink, the very air I breathe, would feel like long, sharp needles. The pages of a book in my hands would take on the threatening metallic gleam of razor blades. I could hear the roots of loneliness creeping through me when the world was hushed at four o’clock in the morning.”
We’re all going to die, all of us, what a circus! That alone should make us love each other but it doesn’t. We are terrorized and flattened by trivialities, we are eaten up by nothing.
When we started, we knew the show was going to be hit or miss, and we needed to find a core audience to really make us survive. And I think we’ve been able to do that.
“What we have here is a dreamer. Someone completely out of touch with reality.”
And I know what must change; fuck my face, fuck my name. They are brief and false advertisements for a soul I don’t have.
“Love is love, no matter how old you are, and I knew that if I gave you enough time, you’d come back to me.”
I have something to give you. I don’t want it anymore. Thirty hours of pain all at once, all for you.
You don’t say anything, you’re talking but you don’t say anything.
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| In a world where every girl wants to be a model, what's wrong baby, did Daddy not give you enough attention?
“It all comes down to one fact. I don’t give a fuck what I look like and I don’t care for you to know what I look like. You are paying money to come to a show and hear some music.”
I was listening to the radio today. Everything sounds the same. It’s like nobody knows what to sing about anymore.
Maybe that's what heaven is. Maybe we go through life collecting people and places we love, and they become our heaven.
"Artists just need to shut the fuck up and listen to what exactly is coming from inside. You just have to find exactly what you should be doing, and if you didn’t have that thing, you would die. Perish, slowly or quickly, violently or like a chump. And every choice is made from that. I have to do this, I’m made to do this. I can’t do anything else. I tried. I don’t really feel fulfilled any other way. Maybe when I get older it will change. I’m sure it will."
They say that every snowflake is different. If that were true, how could the world go on? How could we ever get up off our knees? How could we ever recover from the wonder of it? By forgetting. We cannot keep in mind too many things.
There is only the present and nothing to remember.
"I want her to melt into me, like butter on toast. I want to absorb her and walk around for the rest of my days with her encased in my skin."
Please help me, Lord, my life is such a chore.
“When you are five, you know your age down to the month. Even in your twenties, you know how old you are. I’m twenty-three you say, or maybe twenty-seven. But then in your thirties, something strange starts to happen. It is a mere hiccup at first, an instant of hesitation. How old are you? Oh, I’m—you start confidently, but then you stop. You were going to say thirty-three, but you are not. You’re thirty-five. And then you’re bothered, because you wonder if this is the beginning of the end. It is, of course, but it’s decades before you admit it.”
Bitterness is like cancer. It eats upon the host. But anger is like fire. It burns it all clean.
“You are the noblest, purest creature I’ve ever met. The universe will be a darker place without you.”
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| “Not everybody trusts paintings but people believe photographs.”
There are so many fragile things after all. People break so easily. So do dreams and hearts.
You take somebody that cries their goddam eyes out over phoney stuff in the movies, and nine times out of ten they’re mean bastards at heart.
If you could not understand my silence, then you'll never understand the words I'll say.
“I’m selfish, impatient and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control and at times hard to handle. But if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.”
You must understand the whole of life, not just one little part of it. That is why you must read, that is why you must look at the skies, that is why you must sing and dance and write poems and suffer and understand, for all of that is life.
"So I take pleasure in the details. You know…a quarter-pounder with cheese, those are good, the sky about ten minutes before it starts to rain, the moment where your laughter becomes a cackle."
I understand the impulse: the impulse to want to put out your hand and want someone to be there at the end of your reach. To want someone to be close to. To want to kiss or touch, even if it’s wrong. The point is, you can’t control these feelings. Even if they’re wrong, they’re still there.
This is a story of a girl who turned out wrong, because she only loved things that couldn’t love her back.
"Cause I could see your heart. You held it out before you for everyone to see, and I worried that it would be bruised or torn. And more than anything in my life I wanted to keep it safe, to warm it with my own."
The next time I wake up, I want it to be in a rabbit hole to the sound of you making coffee, with the warm, salty sea; its waves crashing over me.
"Just one thing,” she says, raising her head and looking me straight in the eye. “I want you to remember me. If you remember me, then I don’t care if everyone else forgets."
I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another.
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