Ghost House

nevver: Skinny dipping with Caroline Mackintosh

Fri, 17 May 2013 17:10:40 -0400

Caroline Mackintosh

Caroline Mackintosh

Caroline Mackintosh

Caroline Mackintosh

nevver:

Skinny dipping with Caroline Mackintosh

Sometimes I talk to much.

Thu, 16 May 2013 13:55:41 -0400

Sometimes I talk to much.

"The whole Sylvia Plath life story has been approached in a reductionist way. I wanted to do..."

Mon, 13 May 2013 16:13:55 -0400

“

The whole Sylvia Plath life story has been approached in a reductionist way. I wanted to do something different. Because when I read her journals I see someone who’s so lively, so hungry for life, and really engaged in the world in a relatable way.

”

- Hannah Gersen, ”When Sylvia Was A Millie: An Interview With Elizabeth Winder” (via millionsmillions)

Sylvia’s journals are going on my “to read” list.

(via nogreatillusion)

~

One of the reason’s why I love my job, is that, early last year, I was lucky enough to help unpack one of Sylvia’s journals. One that hadn’t yet been shared with the public, one that was written when she was 13 years old, and obsessed with making paper dolls, based on fashionista’s, actresses, and awkward co-workers. Afterwards, I drank coffee, and tried my best to behave like a grown-up, when I found myself sitting at a small table with the man responsible for caring for these rare manuscripts. This same man (rotund, moustached, balding, bespectacled), who was on his way back from France, after delivering Kerouac’s scroll of On the Road, and advising Walter Salles on his interpretation of the script. We chatted about letterpress, and the fact that he had Napoleon’s personal letterpress in his collection. He was unpretentious and reminded me of my favourite eccentric uncle. I wanted to kidnap this bear-man, and shrink him into my pocket like a paper-doll, to be taken out and laughed with on days that made me sad.

These (fleeting and oh-so-awkward) conversations, make me love where I am. White gloved afternoons, breathing carefully, the dusty inked pages marked by Sylvia’s own childish awkward (beautiful) script, make me wish that I could bottle all the wonder of the world. Make me want to be more than what I am…

"When Jane Austen describes someone as having a “sweet disposition,” you like that girl—you get the..."

Mon, 13 May 2013 11:15:30 -0400

“When Jane Austen describes someone as having a “sweet disposition,” you like that girl—you get the sense that she’s generally open to life, that she has as generous spirit that isn’t likely to sour under adversity. She’s game. She’s brave. But then you have the diluted-by-patriarchy meaning, which is “nice all the time to everyone ever and everyone likes her the most because she’s never been angry or sad or stressed out or had even a mild headache.” From babyhood, girls are praised for being “sweet” and “pretty,” while boys are more likely to be called “big” or “smart.” And so girls become women who haven’t learned how to do a lot of stuff that’s pretty important in life, because that stuff isn’t “sweet.” It’s not “sweet,” for instance, to tell somebody to back off, or to demand better treatment for yourself. It’s not “sweet” to tell a misinformed blowhard who’s dominating the conversation that he’s wrong. It’s not “sweet” to tell somebody you’re not interested in dating them, or to cut a toxic person out of your life. Later on, it won’t be “sweet” when you ask for a raise at work. It’s not “sweet” to campaign for political office, protest an injustice, or report a sexual assault.”

- Rookie (via theseviolentdelights)

Exponential growth (divided by the power of douche)

Tue, 07 May 2013 16:54:47 -0400

Upholding yourself and others to an ethical standard, decreases your networking power, exponentially. Fuck industry people.

"In certain areas of my life, I actively seek out solitude. Especially for someone in my line of..."

Tue, 30 Apr 2013 18:44:50 -0400

“In certain areas of my life, I actively seek out solitude. Especially for someone in my line of work, solitude is, more or less, an inevitable circumstance. Sometimes, however, this sense of isolation, like acid spilling out of a bottle, can unconsciously eat away at a person’s heart and dissolve it. You could see it, too, as a kind of double-edged sword. It protects me, but at the same time steadily cuts away at me from the inside.”

- Haruki Murakami, What I talk About When I Talk About Running (via twistednuns)

nevver: Brendan George Ko

Tue, 02 Apr 2013 18:13:49 -0400

Brendan George Ko

Brendan George Ko

nevver:

Brendan George Ko

thepinesaredancing:

Sun, 31 Mar 2013 14:24:44 -0400

thepinesaredancing:

Photo

Sat, 30 Mar 2013 05:20:46 -0400

The Gap

Tue, 26 Mar 2013 19:34:57 -0400

My mother used to sigh in exasperation, “If all your friends jumped off a bridge, you’d be right behind them.”

What she didn’t know, of course, was that I had already jumped off the bridge. And that I was the first. And they all followed me.

Overheard today, “HOW DARE YOU LEAVE MY SIGHT. Do you NOT understand that strangers could come...

Tue, 26 Mar 2013 15:48:27 -0400

Overheard today, “HOW DARE YOU LEAVE MY SIGHT. Do you NOT understand that strangers could come and grab you and it would only take them TWO seconds? Do you WANT a stranger to GRAB YOU and take you far far away? Do you understand what FAR FAR AWAY means?”

And I can’t help but feel sorry for the kid, trying to get as far away from his mother as possible. Praying that someone DOES take him far far away. Because he knows what that means. It means playing in the grass. It means eating dirt, and poking dead things with sticks. It means hiding in the coat racks, pretending you’re in a jungle on safari. It means throwing snowballs at the neighbours, and adventures that you will never ever get to have.
Two seconds is all it takes, he prays. Two seconds, as he breaks free of her hand and runs like hell, staring into all the strangers eyes with a fierce grin, as he defiantly shakes her hand from his shoulder.

God.

Mon, 25 Mar 2013 11:56:22 -0400

I don’t even like my blog.

Just pick something, damn it.

Tue, 12 Mar 2013 15:36:29 -0400

She said, “Wouldn’t it be nice to never have to make a choice again?”
He laughed, “Aw, hell no. I like decisions, even if I hate making them. They let me feel in control of my life. I would hate to lose that control forever.”
She sighed, “Well, you can have control of mine than.”

He shuddered. “No. The whole point of being in control of your own life, is that it’s yours. I don’t want to be in control of anyone else’s. That’s way too much responsibility. It’s why I don’t even want to have kids. And if I did have kids, the whole point to raisin’ them, would be to enable them to take over the reigns when it was time. To teach them to be in control of their own destiny.”

She looked at the floor, “I still think it would be nice to not have to ever make a decision again.”

He didn’t know what to say, so he asked, “Well, what movie should we watch than?”

She laughed, ” I don’t know, you pick.”

"When setting out on a journey, do not seek advice from those who have never left home."

Mon, 04 Mar 2013 15:47:20 -0500

“When setting out on a journey, do not seek advice from those who have never left home.”

- Rumi (via wordslessspoken)

When all the toast is burnt...

Mon, 04 Mar 2013 15:45:07 -0500

I said, “No, I’m not hungry at all, I’ll just have toast, please.”

and fell back asleep, feeling awful.
Woke up to the sickening smell of bacon and eggs,
and your pleased-with-yourself grin, “Breakfast’s ready!”
I groaned, sinking my head in the pillows.
“Did you make toast, at least?” I ask, with my eyes still closed,
“because that’s all I think I can eat right now.”

The smile fades, as you say, “No toast. But I can make you some, I guess, if that’s what you want.”

Now, I’m annoyed. “All I wanted was toast, I told you that.
No need to make me feel bad.”

You reply, “Well, it wasn’t just for you, this is what I wanted, too.”

The smell of bacon makes my stomach turn, and I leap out of bed, and run to the bathroom, heaving.

You bring me toast, much later, in bed.
I take one bite, feel nauseous, and fall back asleep, dreaming.

smoke frost

Wed, 27 Feb 2013 12:34:14 -0500

I’m sad, but I’m not lonely. Or at least the way that lonely is supposed to be.
I’m just tired of walking, but I’m not ready to sleep.

~

There are days when your voice makes me shiver,
When I hold my breath and let the warmth creep in.
Then there’s the nights when I walk beside the river,
And the moon is high and full and whispering.

The coldest nights make me feel warmer.
When the stars are clear and sharp as knives.
I take comfort in the chill and snow and wind here.
Fear the spring, the melting of the ice.

"I’m not sad, but the boys who are looking for sad girls always find me. I’m not a girl anymore and..."

Wed, 13 Feb 2013 10:41:46 -0500

“I’m not sad, but the boys who are looking for sad girls always find me. I’m not a girl anymore and I’m not sad anymore. You want me to be a tragic backdrop so that you can appear to be illuminated, so that people can say ‘Wow, isn’t he so terribly brave to love a girl who is so obviously sad?’ You think I’ll be the dark sky so you can be the star? I’ll swallow you whole.”

- Warsan Shire (via coffeeissappy)

ewok love

Tue, 12 Feb 2013 15:19:34 -0500

ewok love

Where was I first inspired creatively?

Tue, 12 Feb 2013 15:16:52 -0500

In Kindergarten, Mr. Snack Attack (this was our attempt at making his last name pronounceable) challenged us to make a book, and tell our favourite story. I remember crying with frustration. He looked at our tiny class of 11 very upset kids, and laughed. He said, who needs to know the alphabet, when you can make up your own?

I still have that book, and I still remember the story I “wrote”, in scribbles, and what seems to be scribbled chinese characters and lots of asterisks. I remember ‘reading’ the story to my parents, and turning the pages. The pictures I drew still evoke feelings of my True Love for the Ewok’s cartoon. And it makes me remember the first time that I felt like, “I can do anything”. And I remember how hungry it made me to want to learn how to write, so that I could tell my own stories, and other people other than myself, could read them. It was exciting. Still is.

"I do believe in an everyday sort of magic - the inexplicable connectedness we sometimes experience..."

Wed, 06 Feb 2013 13:12:09 -0500

“I do believe in an everyday sort of magic - the inexplicable connectedness we sometimes experience with places, people, works of art and the like; the eerie appropriateness of moments of synchronicity; the whispered voice, the hidden presence, when we think we’re alone.”

- Charles de Lint, courtesy of Whiskey River. (via crashinglybeautiful)