The Night sound Of Sand On Sand, The Rustling Of Ancient Books, The Call To Prayer In The Crumbling

Every ghost story is the translation of trauma. Every heartbreak can produce ghosts, as every first kiss can create romance.

me every single day of my life

me when I see the psychiatrist

Be a fool, and learn.

“Great city, pillared and towering Driven deep by God’s wrath and wars In that vast desert still floundering Beyond the ever-burning stars

-Excerpt from “Song of Iram”

Nothing like the constant feeling of inadequacy to keep me company as I stare at the empty page, ignoring the heaps of deadlines that advance like the shadow of death.

I dreamed I spoke in another’s language, I dreamed I lived in another’s skin, I dreamed I was my own beloved, I dreamed I was a tiger’s kin. I dreamed that Eden lived inside me, And when I breathed a garden came, I dreamed I knew all of Creation, I dreamed I knew the Creator’s name. I dreamed–and this dream was the finest– That all I dreamed was real and true, And we would live in joy forever, You in me, and me in you.

Clive Barker, Days of Magic, Nights of War   (via mysharona1987)

Beautiful!

To delight in the joy of others is the hallmark of the lonely spirit.

anyway i love being autistic

reblog if you love being autistic, love people who are autistic, or want to punch every ableist jerk in the mouth.

Our knees rattle as a prayer, should our voices fail to speak.

I tend to spend my time in silent contemplation. Contemplating the Divine.