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Part-broken, Part-whole

I come here to bleed in all 26 colours of the alphabet.

A thing of beauty, Wordwhoring

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Posted by mentalexotica on February 8, 2010January 24, 2012

Some things you never forget, no matter how you try. Some people too.
Happy Birthday, wherever you are.

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”Part-broken, part-whole, we begin again…” – Jeanette Winterson

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Was going to write some pop psychology about my life being too full to worry about looking as old as I am. Then I asked myself, “are you seriously so full of your own horseshit?”

Cat called Monkey.

My domesticated jaguar in hunt mode. Pigeons are toast.

This was taken when I was maybe 5 or 6 on my birthday. August meant being home with my grandparents. Monsoon days and nights under the blankets. Sucking on my grandfather’s earlobes and naps with my leg thrown over my grandma’s globose stomach. It meant stories, cuddles, and love like I’d never known, and would never know again. Stupendous. Invincible. Safe. And without condition.

“I’ve been immortalised thanks to my aunty, @andradiaconu, who has seen me for the talent I am. My mother is, by and large, useless in such matters. But, I make do.” - Suleiman the Magnificent (Cat)

Just one of the myriad ways a book can break you. Sophie Mackintosh, The Blue Ticket

My brother’s cat has balls, I’ll tell you that.

So much for acche din.

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