is only cliché if you have never lived
in an old farmhouse, if you have never
shut its basement door with a bang and jostled
the entire foundation, jiggling the upstairs
latch loose from its strike and throwing
the front door wide open. It is only cliché
if you have never then had to search under
beds for the feral cat that entered in the time
it took you to mount the stairs, find him
in some dark hiding place, and leave a trail of
treats to coax him back out the front door,
which you slam in annoyance behind him,
shaking the house’s foundation, followed
a few minutes later by the sound of a cat
meowing from the basement. . .

Lynn Marie Houston

true witches know

July 1, 2017

Real magic can never be made by offering up someone else’s liver. You must tear out your own, and not expect to get it back. The true witches know that.

Peter S. Beagle
The Last Unicorn

Erotic part

July 1, 2017

Man shouldn’t be able to see his own face – there’s nothing more sinister. Nature gave him the gift of not being able to see it, and of not being able to stare into his own eyes.

Only in the water of rivers and ponds could he look at his face. And the very posture he had to assume was symbolic. He had to bend over, stoop down, to commit the ignominy of beholding himself.

The inventor of the mirror poisoned the human heart.

Fernando Pessoa
The Book of Disquiet

Deep silence

July 1, 2017

I have packed myself into silence so deeply and for so long that I can never unpack myself using words. When I speak, I only pack myself a little differently.

Herta Müller
The Hunger Angel

Look, a girl like her, she’s like the summer sun.

Her radiance is undeniable.

At some point, she might seem to be too much, and you’re allowed to think that. But just like every winter night, when she’s gone, you’ll miss her warmth and light. And all you’ll have left is the cold darkness of her absence.

Maxwell Diawuoh
Like The Summer Sun