What reconciles me to my own death more than anything else is the image of a place: a place where your bones and mine are buried, thrown, uncovered, together. They are strewn there pell-mell. One of your ribs leans against my skull. A metacarpal of my left hand lies inside your pelvis. (Against my broken ribs your breast like a flower.) The hundred bones of our feet are scattered like gravel. It is strange that this image of our proximity, concerning as it does mere phosphate of calcium, should bestow a sense of peace. Yet it does. With you I can imagine a place where to be phosphate of calcium is enough.
- John Berger, And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief as Photos
I just felt so useless. She was my one sister, my beautiful sister and she started to turn into this monster. These bones on her body just started to jut out like someone had stuck daggers under her skin. And her hair, she started growing hair all over her body - it was like a sort of dense fur, like a werewolf. And she stopped smiling, she couldn't smile anymore because she was throwing up all the time and the vomit, acid made her teeth go all yellow and she just stopped smiling and stopped living.
wasteland by francesca lia block on the road by jack kerouac the history of love by nicole krauss the shared patio (no one belongs here more than you) by miranda july sula by toni morrison women by charles bukowski
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- John Berger, And Our Faces, My Heart, Brief as Photos
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- It's from the movie My Summer of Love.
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on the road by jack kerouac
the history of love by nicole krauss
the shared patio (no one belongs here more than you) by miranda july
sula by toni morrison
women by charles bukowski
shawshank redemption
feb. 20 skip 115
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