like daydreams
it's the sound of steel drums and silver in your lungs
aghhhh we're melting ahhh i bap you ok the head
"i dont like pop" why not its so fun. u dont like lady gaga? jesus is my virtue but judas is the demoon i cling to? i cling to?
how to save a life by the fray, wonderwall by oasis, creep by radiohead, viva la vida by coldplay, lazarus by porcupine tree, numb by linkin park and bittersweet symphony by the verve. None of them are the same genre but somehow. They are united by a mood. A movement. A phase of memory. You had to be there (middle school)
im like if an evil girl was really nice anyway goodnight
“That’s why high school, or a crappy job, or any other restrictive circumstance can be dangerous: They make dreams too painful to bear. To avoid longing, we hunker down, wait, and resolve to just survive. Great art becomes a reminder of the art you want to be making, and of the gigantic world outside of your small, seemingly inescapable one. We hide from great things because they inspire us, and in this state, inspiration hurts.”
— One of the best articles I’ve ever read. Rookie Mag. By Spencer Tweedy. (via wildyork)
“Lolita isn’t a perverse young girl. She’s a poor child who has been debauched and whose senses never stir under the caresses of the foul Humbert Humbert, whom she asks once, ‘how long did [he] think we were going to live in stuffy cabins, doing filthy things together…?’ But to reply to your question: no, its success doesn’t annoy me, I am not like Conan Doyle, who out of snobbery or simple stupidity preferred to be known as the author of “The Great Boer War,” which he thought superior to his Sherlock Holmes. It is equally interesting to dwell, as journalists say, on the problem of the inept degradation that the character of the nymphet Lolita, whom I invented in 1955, has undergone in the mind of the broad public. Not only has the perversity of this poor child been grotesquely exaggerated, but her physical appearance, her age, everything has been transformed by the illustrations in foreign publications. Girls of eighteen or more, sidewalk kittens, cheap models, or simple long-legged criminals, are baptized “nymphets” or “Lolitas” in news stories in magazines in Italy, France, Germany, etc; and the covers of translations, Turkish or Arab, reach the height of ineptitude when they feature a young woman with opulent contours and a blonde mane imagined by boobies who have never read my book. In reality Lolita is a little girl of twelve, whereas Humbert Humbert is a mature man, and it’s the abyss between his age and that of the little girl that produces the vacuum, the vertigo, the seduction of mortal danger. Secondly, it’s the imagination of the sad satyr that makes a magic creature of this little American schoolgirl, as banal and normal in her way as the poet manqué Humbert is in his. Outside the maniacal gaze of Humbert there is no nymphet. Lolita the nymphet exists only through the obsession that destroys Humbert. Herein an essential aspect of a unique book that has been betrayed by a factitious popularity.”
— Vladimir Nabokov (tr. Brian Boyd), Apostrophes (1975)
Véra Nabokov, Vladimir Nabokov’s editor and wife (among so many other things), mentioned in interviews with her biographer that he threw the Lolita manuscript into a fire several times (she pulled it out). Vladimir Nabokov spoke openly about his fear that the industry and an idiot public would pervert his book into a saucy sex fantasy instead of a study on predatory patriarchal horror. I hate how right he was.
Not to menton how he expressed very blatantly that he did not want the cover of he book to depict a girl at all.
“I want pure colors, melting clouds, accurately drawn details, a sunburst above a receding road with the light reflected in furrows and ruts, after rain. And no girls.”
As a fellow person in their twenties, you good?
i wish i could float in a river face down for seventy kilometers and not drown
wouldn’t wish being an exol on anyone
ALT
