"It’s the fire in my eyes,
And the flash of my teeth,
The swing in my waist,
And the joy in my feet.
I’m a woman
Men themselves have wondered
What they see in me.
They try so much
But they can’t touch
My inner mystery.”
Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
Have a great weekend.
When the chocolate, the mushy TV shows and torturing happily-ever-after movies don't work for you, you can always turn to books behind the link.
i'm off to yoga.
Rest of the feverish books behind the link.
The Adults by Alison Espach is a really unique coming of age story.
How could I pretend to be a victim when I was so willing to sin?
I told myself that I didn't need any of that shit, but there it was, repeated to me day after day after day. And when you're surrounded by a bunch of mostly strangers experiencing the same thing, unable to call home, tethered to routine on ranchland miles away from anybody who might have known you before, might have been able to recognize the real you if you told them you couldn't remember who she was, it's not really like being real at all. It's plastic living. It's living in a diorama. It's living the life of one of those prehistoric insects encased in amber: suspended, frozen, dead but not, you don't know for sure.
I just liked girls because I couldn't help not to.
And the flavor of [her] kiss - bittersweet and strange - stayed with me all the way back uptown, swaying and sleepy as I sailed home on the bus, melting with sorrow and loveliness, a starry ache that lifted me up above the windswept city like a kite: my head in the rainclouds, my heart in the sky.
And as much as I’d like to believe there’s a truth beyond illusion, I’ve come to believe that there’s no truth beyond illusion. Because, between ‘reality’ on the one hand, and the point where the mind strikes reality, there’s a middle zone, a rainbow edge where beauty comes into being, where two very different surfaces mingle and blur to provide what life does not: and this is the space where all art exists, and all magic.
-Não vou deixar que me batas- disse com firmeza, agarrando-me à coluna da cama.
-Ah, não? - Ergeu as sobrancelhas ruivas - Bem, vou dizer-se, rapariga, que acho que não tens grand escolha. És minha mulher, quer gostes ou não. Se eu quiser partir-te o braço, deixar-te a pão e àgua ou trancar-te num quarto por vários dias... e não penses que não me sinto tentado...podia, quanto mais aquecer-te o rabo.
E se eu não cooperar? - perguntei com a voz trémula.Ele apanhou o cinto e bateu-o contra a perna com um estalido desagradável.
-Então, terei de colocar um joelho nas tuas costas e espancar-te até me doer o braço e aviso-te já que te vais cansar muito antes de mim.
-Não!-exclamei,arquejante.-Pára, por favor, está a magoar-me! (...) As minhas coxas doíam com a repetição do impacto e os meus pulsos pareciam estar prestes a partir-se, mas ele manteve-se inexorável.
“Oh, you won’t?” He raised sandy brows. “Well, I’ll tell ye, lass, I doubt you’ve much to say about it. You’re my wife, like it or not. Did I want to break your arm, or feed ye naught but bread and water, or lock ye in a closet for days—and don’t think ye don’t tempt me, either—I could do that, let alone warm your bum for you.”
“Likely. If not before, certainly during. I expect they’ll hear ye at the next farm; you’ve got good lungs.” He grinned odiously and came across the bed after me.
He pried my fingers loose with some difficulty, and pulled firmly, hauling me to the side of the bed. I kicked him in the shins, but did no damage, not having shoes on. Grunting slightly, he managed to turn me facedown on the bed, twisting my arm to hold me there.
“I mean to do it, Claire! Now, if you’ll cooperate wi’ me, we’ll call the account square with a dozen strokes.”
“And if not?” I quavered. He picked up the strap and slapped it against his leg with a nasty thwapping sound.
“Then I shall put a knee in your back and beat you ’til my arm tires, and I warn ye, you’ll tire of it long before I do.”
I bounced off the bed and whirled to face him, fists clenched.
“You barbarian! You … you sadist!” I hissed furiously. “You’re doing this for your own pleasure! I’ll never forgive you for this!” Jamie paused, twisting the belt.
He replied levelly, “I dinna know what’s a sadist. And if I forgive you for this afternoon, I reckon you’ll forgive me, too, as soon as ye can sit down again.”
“As for my pleasure …” His lip twitched. “I said I would have to punish you. I did not say I wasna going to enjoy it.” He crooked a finger at me.
“No!” I gasped. “Stop, please, you’re hurting me!” Beads of sweat ran down his face and dropped on the pillow and on my breasts. Our flesh met now with the smack of a blow that was fast crossing the edge into pain. My thighs were bruising with the repeated impact, and my wrists felt as though they would break, but his grip was inexorable.
“Aye, beg me for mercy, Sassenach. Ye shallna have it, though; not yet.” His breath came hot and fast, but he showed no signs of tiring. My entire body convulsed, legs rising to wrap around him, seeking to contain the sensation.
I could feel the jolt of each stroke deep in my belly, and cringed from it, even as my hips rose traitorously to welcome it. He felt my response, and redoubled his assault, pressing now on my shoulders to keep me pinned under him.
A voice inside told me I didn’t belong here, that there was another life waiting for me. And with each passing year, that voice became louder.
I was changing. My thoughts, my desires, my ideals – all were altered by each contact I had with Porter. I was tired of resisting the effect he has having on me. I was tired of resisting felling like an actual person, rather than just a cog in a wheel.