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Part-broken, Part-whole

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

Diary of a break up. And breakdown.

Clearing.

Posted by mentalexotica on April 4, 2010January 24, 2012

I put away the things you use no longer
because you are here no longer.
I make space for your absence
and the void, still growing.

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

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+1 twitter.com/marisakabas/st… 3 hours ago
I NEED A DAY TO PROCESS THE VOCABULARY THEN CONFIRM IF THIS IS A TABLE OR A HOOKER https://t.co/LKkZF6YZq7 1 day ago
We are all doing the best we can ffs https://t.co/C4kJJUvDwH 1 day ago

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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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