Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.
" I am terrified by this dark thing that sleeps in me,
All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity. "
Läste upp en bit av dikten "Elm" av Sylvia Plath idag, den svenska versionen, och bara en liten bit av den. Sitter just nu, uppslukad av resterande dikter ur diktsamlingen Ariel. Jag är som besatt, jag tycker att dem är så himla,himla bra.
" Dying, is an art, like everything else. I do it exceptionally well. I do it so it feels like hell. I do it so it feels real. I guess you could say I've a call"
"Is it the sea you hear in me, It's dissatisfactions? Or the voice of nothing, that was your madness?"
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