A P O W
“Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is as if I had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. My language trembles with desire.”
— Roland Barthes, “Talking,” in A Lover’s Discourse
Real couple NSFW 18+ #marsplusvenus Submissions are welcome, please only girls or couples. Thanks for coming.
Someone tells me: this kind of love is not viable. But how can you evaluate viability? Why is the viable a Good Thing? Why is it better to last than to burn?
Roland Barthes
“Language is a skin: I rub my language against the other. It is as if I had words instead of fingers, or fingers at the tip of my words. My language trembles with desire.”
— Roland Barthes, “Talking,” in A Lover’s Discourse
I cannot exist without you - I am forgetful of every thing but seeing you again - my Life seems to stop there - I see no further. You have absorb’d me. I have a sensation at the present moment as though I were dissolving…
John Keats
“You are a secret beyond dreams.”
— Adonis, from ‘Transformations of the Lover’, The Pages of Day and Night (trans. Samuel Hazo)
“I’ll never finish falling in love with you.”
— Nicole Williams, Collared
(via moanables)
“Ah, it hurts, loving you so much, so fiercely much!”
— Albert Camus, State of Siege (via acknowledgetheabsurd)
“Do not be too moral. You may cheat yourself out of much life so. Aim above morality. Be not simply good — be good for something.”
— Henry David Thoreau, The Correspondence of Henry David Thoreau (via philosophybits)
Lay your sleeping head, my love,
Human on my faithless arm;
Time and fevers burn away
Individual beauty from
Thoughtful children, and the grave
Proves the child ephemeral:
But in my arms till break of day
Let the living creature lie,
Mortal, guilty, but to me
The entirely beautiful.
Soul and body have no bounds:
To lovers as they lie upon
Her tolerant enchanted slope
In their ordinary swoon,
Grave the vision Venus sends
Of supernatural sympathy,
Universal love and hope;
While an abstract insight wakes
Among the glaciers and the rocks
The hermit’s carnal ecstasy.
Certainty, fidelity
On the stroke of midnight pass
Like vibrations of a bell,
And fashionable madmen raise
Their pedantic boring cry:
Every farthing of the cost,
All the dreaded cards foretell,
Shall be paid, but from this night
Not a whisper, not a thought,
Not a kiss nor look be lost.
Beauty, midnight, vision dies:
Let the winds of dawn that blow
Softly round your dreaming head
Such a day of welcome show
Eye and knocking heart may bless,
Find the mortal world enough;
Noons of dryness find you fed
By the involuntary powers,
Nights of insult let you pass
Watched by every human love.
It is like an illness: the desire to see someone, the strong, deep yearning. No, I have not explained it. I was working today, writing. My head was busy: my mind was filled with the work. Yet all the while I was conscious of a physical pain–a gnawing–as if a piece of me had been cut off. And the mind could do nothing about it. It was physical: it was in the veins, in the blood, in the skin. That is why human relationships are dangerous–because the mind has no power over them.
