nachu

When Oscar Wilde wrote “There seemed to be something tragic in a friendship so coloured by romance.” He meant James and Oliver friendship/relationship, I mean when Oliver saw those bruise marks on James he was like 'I wanted to give Richard ten bruises for every one he’d put on James, and when James showed up at his house unannounced he called Meredith to say 'I had no idea he was coming, but I can’t just leave him here. I don’t think New York is going to happen' and when James broke his nose, the first thing Oliver said was 'I want to forgive you' and threw a harmless paperback book at his knee to get even, and when James was crazy drunk and reciting Shakespeare in madness, Oliver said reassuringly 'You can tell me. Even if it’s bad, even if it’s really bad. We’ll find a way to fix it', and when James confessed to killing Richard, Oliver only comforted him by saying '“It’s okay," ... "It'll be okay" ' and when Colborne came to arrest James, Oliver took the blame and went to jail, and when James asked 'Why?' Oliver answered 'You know why'.

the feminine urge to become fluent in every language on earth so I can read literature in poetry in their native tongues to get the full effect

no SINCERELY curious what was your #1 song and how many times did you listen to it.

literally everything always feels like a performance to me. i’ll be uncontrollably sobbing and will suddenly be like wow i would’ve won an oscar for this

I was in a beginner’s fiction writing class once and we read a Borges piece to interpret and discuss and my interpretation was that he was describing the kind of weird mental state writers can wind up in where we mine everything –everything– for material. So, I’ll be filled with immense grief or joy or fear or what have you, and at the same time there’s this little disassociated piece of myself going “oh, so this is what x feels like, ok. What’re the physical sensations? What are the thoughts like? etc. etc” and analysing my experiences as they happen and figuring out how I’d put them into a narrative. I described it as having this omnipresent voyeur inside of one’s experience. And, other than our professor, no-one else at all got or could relate to what I was saying, except for a classmate who was an actor, who felt himself doing the exact same thing. 

all I do is listen to music and think about my silly little fictional people