Vladimir Nabokov

“The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there, written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible.”
Vladimir Nabokov

Come out, come out whereever you are

Melancholy
by Baron Wormser

Weakness—the pale succumbing to loneliness,
Refusing to admit anyone else, indulging
The blue perquisites of adolescence
Long past their sensible deliquescence.
He knew it but went on drinking and regretting,
Not calling his friends and regretting,
Making scenes over nothing and regretting.
It helped to make him despise himself,
Which was, he sensed, what he wanted. He was
Then, in his oblique [...]

I am supposed to write.

I need crayons. I have them. I need markers. I have them. They sit in empty coffee cans. They are waiting to be used. Use me, Periwinkle screams. Use me, Marigold screams. No! Use me, Gray screams. I will use all of you, I will bide my time, my dear ones, I will not only [...]

sun

I’d like the great ball of fire everyday.
I’d like blue skies.
 
 

sarah with the red door has impeccable taste

so you want to be a writer? — Bukowski

if it doesn’t come bursting out of you
in spite of everything,
don’t do it.
unless it comes unasked out of your
heart and your mind and your mouth
and your gut,
don’t do it.
if you have to sit for hours
staring at your computer screen
or hunched over your
typewriter
searching for words,
don’t do it.
if you’re [...]