frills thrills

she never looked nice.
she looked like art.
and art wasn't supposed to look nice;
it was supposed to make you feel something.
when birds look into houses what impossible worlds they see.

when birds look into houses what impossible worlds they see.

"how do you stay sane?"

"who said i was sane?"

"oh my god. what if you wake up someday and you’re 65, or 75, and you never got your memoir or novel written. what if you were too strung out on perfectionism and people-pleasing that you forgot to have a big juicy creative life of imagination and radical silliness and staring off into space like you did when you were a kid. it’s going to break your heart. don’t let it happen." 

and so i finally understood how you could feel so detached from the world, yet be at one with it.