Kim Addonizio, From Lucifer At The Starlite: Poems; “You With The Crack Running Through You”

Alain Badiou, In Praise of Love (in conversation with Nicolas Truong) trans. Peter Bush

words by me

╰┈➤ pairing: Victor Von Doom & Reed Richards

Who makes the porn bots. Where do they come from. What do they hope to achieve.

Anaïs Nin, Mirages: The Unexpurgated Diary of Anaïs Nin, 1939-1947

hey sorry it's just that i don't think i'm very good at being a person. thanks for letting me try with you, anyway.

Louise Glück, Poems 1962-2012

My body is already an inhospitable environment, there’s no way a friggin baby would be able to survive in it

Sylvia Plath, from a letter featured in The Letters of Sylvia Plath Vol. 1: 1940-1956

It’s weird to grow up in a family where you know you’re loved but you don’t feel loved. And then later in adulthood you understand how almost impossible it seems to cross that distance and let yourself experience closeness, how otherworldly love feels now and how love feels unbearable at times. You flinch when someone tries to wholeheartedly love you. And over and over you see so clearly how you cannot be loved unless it's from afar and love is mixed with that familiar sensation of distance and coldness.

“I feel unspeakably lonely. And I feel - drained. It is a blank state of mind and soul I cannot describe to you as I think it would not make any difference. Also it is a very private feeling I have - that of melting into a perpetual nervous breakdown. I am often questioning myself what I further want to do, who I further wish to be; which parts of me, exactly, are still functioning properly. No answers, darling. At all.”

— Anne Sexton