Mark Z. Danielewski (House of Leaves)

via ginger-ninja (via frenchtwist)

(via frenchtwist)

fuckyeahpolishpoets:

I said so little.
Days were short.

Short days.
Short nights.
Short years.

I said so little.
I couldn’t keep up.

My heart grew weary
From joy,
Despair,
Ardor,
Hope.

The jaws of Leviathan
Were closing upon me.

Naked, I lay on the shores
Of desert islands.

The white whale of the world
Hauled me down to its pit.

And now I don’t know
What in all that was real.

(Translated by Czeslaw Milosz & Lillian Vallee)

(via yama-bato)

thetranscendentalmodernist:

The Soul unto itself
Is an imperial friend  –
Or the most agonizing Spy  –
An Enemy  – could send  –

Secure against its own  –
No treason it can fear  –
Itself  – its Sovereign  – of itself
The Soul should stand in Awe  –

- by Emily Dickinson