U pass through places and places pass through U

When our eyes met, I felt that I was growing pale. A curious sensation of terror came over me. I knew that I had come face to face with some one whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself.

—Oscar Wilde (via dailystendhalnitesaudade)

Suffering is a chance you take by the fact of being alive.

—William S. Burroughs, Letters to Allen Ginsberg: 1953-1957 (via honeyforthehomeless)

20th May 2012 | 67 notes

chasiingdaisies:

What makes a burner?
Anyone who appreciates art, music, and beauty, and sometimes feels the need to “Burn” their conventional self for a while and reinvent themselves in an environment where they can be themselves in all their freaky awesomeness. Fire is a metaphor for the “Burn”, but really “To Burn” means “to let go”. Burners can use meditation, drugs, dancing, and other techniques to achieve a state of uninhibited self-expression.
Burners are free spirited and self-reliant, but help each other, rejoice in each other, inspire each other, and celebrate together.

What makes a burner?

Anyone who appreciates art, music, and beauty, and sometimes feels the need to “Burn” their conventional self for a while and reinvent themselves in an environment where they can be themselves in all their freaky awesomeness. Fire is a metaphor for the “Burn”, but really “To Burn” means “to let go”. Burners can use meditation, drugs, dancing, and other techniques to achieve a state of uninhibited self-expression.

Burners are free spirited and self-reliant, but help each other, rejoice in each other, inspire each other, and celebrate together.

(via fuckyeahblackrockcity)

I cried the last time we made love. The tears that followed the release you gave me fell as I helplessly let go. It was the remembrance of your body and the way my heart felt open while you lie on top of me. I remember now how it felt to cry with you. Vulnerable. Remorseful. Undone.
I took for granted our sex, our bodies together. By the time I had learned to let go it was too late wasn’t it?

I never knew what making love was like before I met you. Sometimes I wonder if it can be duplicated or if I’m doomed to reflect on us forever.
Our love was connectedness embodied in two people. So of course it makes sense that severing ties would be hard, perhaps impossible.

I wonder if other men I have slept with cling to past loves the way I cling to you. I’m sure they do. When will I feel whole again?

I’m not sad these days. I’m happy to be alive, to be where I am.
But I miss you. Of course I do.