Chomsky’s Daughter

nothing that a haircut and a wardrobe update and a detox and a sex change and a fake ID and getting medicated and selling all my stuff and faking my death and moving country can't fix

its cause you always slouching toward that damn bethlehem

English spelling isn't that hard to understand as long as you also understand French orthography, Dutch orthography, the Great Vowel Shift, the Latin language, the history of the printing press, and the etymology of every word introduced to English in the last 600 years

talking to myself out loud and disagreeing with myself every now and then so that the spirits lingering in the cold corners of my room don't accuse me of monolithic thinking

i always wanted to be as warm as a freshly printed sheet of paper

salt lamp on. big ass hoodie on. pajama pants tucked into socks. soft blanket. pirate streaming site of choice. i am going to live forever

never related to authors being like "childhood is such a blessed innocent time", catch me with that jane eyre shit like "such dread as children only can feel" and "I then sat with my doll on my knee til the fire got low, glancing round occasionally to make sure nothing worse than myself haunted the shadowy room"

heavy-handed with metaphor (as all lovers are) & filled to the brim with music

“language is socially constructed” to YOU. the heavens descended upon ME to tell me everything’s true name. so

i have been a ghost since i was a child, i don’t know how to turn myself into a person

oxford comma baby i’m so sorry they said that about you i do give a fuck about you

you cannot gender me in a way that matters

reblog if you want girls at Welton, im trying to prove a point to someone