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.
- Sylvia Plath
and suddenly i got very cold, and put some more clothes on. then i got very nervous and began to become suffocated by everything down to the way the pictures and things in my room were not arranged geometrically, i began to panic. then the panic swelled to a druglike high…i felt FUCKED UP…like i did some really good …i don’t even know…heroin or coke i guesss…a rush of chemicals for no reason at all..so i just enjoyed that even though it freaked me out because that’s not right, as far as i know….then suddenly i became very tired…but i felt i had to write this all down….goodnight.
by Rasha Kahil
“Most of the time, work comes from heartache or frustration: I have a delicious little masochistic streak that devilishly pushes me to create something from the pain. Better than self-mutilation I reckon…” - from the Kahil’s interview in the December issue of 180 Magazine
i think i have a preference to just sit in the silence and read. or listen to music loud, or both. i’m thinking of getting rid of the television and the gadgets. what do you think?
funeral | (via soft-skeletons)
