firstly: oh, Chemda, what an ordeal. i'm giving you my best, biggest hugs. blah blah blah politics, sure, but at present, i just want to wrap you in a warm blanket of love and make sure you know you're safe. bless your heart, squash blossom.
secondly: Bowen is fucking awesome. LOVED Bowen. please have Bowen back.
third: The Bell Jar? The /Bell Jar/? alright, man. see how far you can manage through that girlhood rite of passage. all her thoughts are sour and matter-of-fact, but still very pretty; like they have lace edges despite herself.
Quote:
When they asked some old Roman philosopher or other how he wanted to die, he said he would open his veins in a warm bath. I thought it would be easy, lying in the tub and seeing the redness flower from my wrists, flush after flush through the clear water, till I sank to sleep under a surface gaudy of poppies.
But when it came right down to it, the skin of my wrist looked so white and defenseless that I couldn't do it. It was as if what I wanted to kill wasn't in that skin or the thin blue pulse that jumped under my thumb, but somewhere else, deeper, more secret, and a whole lot harder to get at.
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