No Great Illusion

Caroline is a twenty-something former film student, frequent subway-crier and headboard enthusiast. She lives in Brooklyn.

My writing here.

Send me a letter: nogreatillusion [at] gmail [dot] com

“I do not want to be human. I want to be myself. They think I am a lion, that I will chase them. I will not deny I have lions in me. I am the monster in the wood. I have wonders in my house of sugar. I have parts of myself I do not yet understand.”

—   Catherynne M. Valente, Silently and Very Fast (via larmoyante)

“I must tell you that I should really like to think there’s something wrong with me because if there isn’t, then there’s something wrong with the world itself — and that’s much more frightening! That would be terrible. So I’d rather believe there is something wrong with me, that could be put right.”

—   T.S. Eliot, from The Cocktail Party (via violentwavesofemotion)

espace-personnelle:

Alexandra Levasseur

(via hellamidwesternstumps)

“Last night I told my friend Matt, “I feel like I’m rebelling against people I really like.” We were talking about community and writing, writers. Though I think I also meant how I navigate loss. The air around me takes shape and once I feel it’s edges it collapses again. I also watched a documentary on Near Death Experiences. I didn’t get through the whole thing, I went for a drive.
The old road where the barn still has a Christmas wreath. It wasn’t sad, but writing it is sad. I was thinking about Bob’s video on Loneliness, which made me cry, but the way you do when you hear a sad song that you know well. It’s funny what we tell ourselves, I do it all the time. I wouldn’t know where to begin, what to take off. But I think I’m starting. I found a small cross, I thought I lost, in my car. My sister gave it to me a year ago. I remember I was exactly here a year ago, but in a different way. It felt warm from the heater. And.
this morning. drinking iced coffee, I had to drive by the park that has been flooded. That’s what I want, too. I want to be overwhelmed. Like I said last night. And I am, in all the great ways.”

—   Poems Art Snow:  

“Thunderbolts explode between different intensities, but they are preceded by an invisible, imperceptible dark precursor, which determines their path in advance but in reverse, as though intagliated. Likewise, every system contains its dark precursor which ensures the communication of peripheral series.”

—   Gilles Deleuze, Difference and Repetition (via heteroglossia)

Welcome To Twin Peaks collection by Suckers Apparel

(Source: moarrrmagazine, via squidstina)

Show Me Love

Today, I showed my body love by having morning sex, and in the evening by running for 15 and a half minutes straight.

Tomorrow, I’m going to love my body by eating amazing pasta that Emma’s going to cook for us.

Thursday I’m going to love my body by buying at least two very expensive bras.

There are a lot of ways to take care of yourself, and all of them important.

“Tall, slender, statuesque, and dark, her eyes mournful as she drew deeply upon the cigarette, a Salem menthol, that she held clasped in her long elegant fingers. With her black hair and eyes of aquamarine, she was as beautiful and dramatic a woman as a daughter could hope for.”

—   Linda Gray Sexton, from 45 Mercy Street: Anne Sexton (via violentwavesofemotion)

Haim - If I Could Change Your Mind

pretendingtoadult asked: Caroline, I'm in slightly mushy slightly contemplative mood. What book should I read?

Ooo yay! Ok.

Literally any Jane Austen. If you’ve been putting off Pride and Prejudice, now is the time.

Bel Canto by Ann Patchett

The Time Traveler’s Wife by Audrey Niffeneger (don’t judge it by the movie)

Tender Is The Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald

I Capture the Castle by Dodie Smith

Everything Beautiful Began After by Simon Van Booy

The Story of a Marriage by Andrew Sean Greer

Murder, She Wrote

I just need everyone to know that I’ve started work on my magnum opus.

I am writing a murder mystery dinner party in which I plan to convince all of my friends to star.

I spent the entire subway ride home brainstorming plot twists.

God, my friends are lucky.

“Suddenly she realized that what she was regretting was not the lost past but the lost future, not what had not been but what would never be.”

—   F. Scott Fitzgerald (via electrichoney)

(Source: psych-facts, via electrichoney)

balltillifall:

The best time to view the 42nd Street library is at dusk.

balltillifall:

The best time to view the 42nd Street library is at dusk.

commovente:

recurring thoughts

  1. after the plates are cleaned off of the dinner table, after everyone has left for the couch for their room for a post-meal smoke outside, i gather the crumbs and arugula, the salt bits and the little pepper shakes into a pile in the center and identify very deeply with that little pile of disjointed flavor. 

  2. safety and security as a small village in the middle of the woods. think, first settlements. think jamestown. we know the people within the fence, know their faces, know each of them individually and intimately, know where they rest where they work what the baker’s hands look like, but everything outside of that is dark and wooded. the lanterns go on at night and we light up our streets, but everywhere outside is still dark. still full of what we perceive to be all the humps and bumps of nighttime, the unknown, the mysterious. 

  3. now imagine taking yourself out of the safety of that town, of your comfort zone, having to roam around with only your hands blindly blindly until you reach something familiar again, solid. having to enter a new world and rearrange yourself. you tell people your name, hope that they understand you, but know that they don’t. for the first time, you are a stranger. 

  4. that is how i feel about a lot of the things that i’m interested in, and a lot of the life choices that i have to make. this entire year has been me flipping the table, breaking out of the face because i am afraid of being stuck within one town for the rest of my life, and going where the branches are hitting my face where the shrubs the thorns are making blood of my knees, my ankles. i ran, and it was terrifying, but i did it. and now i’m here again, at another place where i feel the need to leave, to go, to run for the fucking moon. 

  5. it’s harder, the second time, to do it all again. 

  6. when i think of the self i think of laying against the damp earth, pressing palms into wet into wood, into ants into worms. i am thinking of letting the animals crawl over me. i’m thinking of putting soggy dead leaves in my mouth and sucking them bone-dry. i am thinking of laying there looking up at late september, light filtering very sweetly very slightly between the trees. every color of green. i am thinking of myself laying there for so long that my body turns into a bed of moss, until i smell sweet and earthy, a picnic place, somewhere you take your children, the person you love, the place you go to when you need to get away. i want to be that. let me be that.