Joyce Carol Oates comes out swinging with banger tweets today.
But also, this is hilarious. She apparently has a reputation???
Holy fuck.
That line is raw as fuck too.
"an oracle is not beholden to coherence."
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Our lives are enormous waves breaking on the shore, retreating and leaving only a few scattered things behind for us to contemplate.
Joyce Carol Oates, from “Afterword,” The Lost Landscape: A Writer’s Coming of Age
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Writer’s block is a temporary paralysis caused by the conviction, on an unconscious level, that what the writer is attempting is in some way fraudulent, or mistaken, or self-destructive.
– Joyce Carol Oates
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High fences of realization built on the liquid like foundation of my murky soul.
My desire for love when kept untouched grew into resentment towards myself.
Soothed only by the hands of death on the base of my spine stitching me back together I, her only leftover with words of comfort.
"Life goes on". Is its construction mantra.
Out of deaths lips its arbitrary, a stolen promise; like all the souls that it deemed unfit to be renovated.
The hand of death on the base of my spine, on the back of my neck
it grounds me; I find comfort in it.
the way it caress me so lovingly, a threat of a postpartum psychotic mother to an oblivious child.
Death was never particularly appealing to me, it’s the thought of not existing
not now, not in the past, nor the future. to never be, with no trace whatsoever.
To cease to exist all together With no leftovers, nor broken lovers.
It’s not a constant desire, more of a lure, a forbidden love. A slow burn romance with a happy ending
One that I’ll never reach out to willingly but if it ever reached out to me then I know for sure that I’m not strong enough to reject it.
Because life loses its colors from time to time…
And that leaves me, like a person suffering from aphasia. I lose the ability to understand the point of it all…
I try hard to redefine everything, yet, I can’t express it not even when I reach for a semi-stable ground with all my words.
sensitive, i let life play me like an instrument, so responsive.
i increase the tone of whatever melody goes through me..
do it so i hurt anyone who loves me enough to listen. And because I can’t just fade…. And because I don’t have the upper hand…. I make sure to leave my mark, I make sure I have a way to I leave.
And then I choose not to.
•••
•Quotes: Christa Wolf / Joyce Carol Oates/ Sylvia Plath/Susan Sontag/ Virginia Woolf / Ocean Vuong / Molly Brodak/ Halsey
•Original context: Sinligh
•art reference:
1. Painting by John Bagnold Burgess (detail)
Painting by Roberto Ferri ( detail)
2. Painting by Émile Vernon (detail)
3. The Grasshopper by Jules Joseph Lefebvre. (detail)
4. Painting by Valeria Duca.
5. red" by Hei Shan.
6. Sleeping Beauty by William Oxer.
7. Halsey from her Ig post: iamhalsey (detail)
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joyce carol oates being a Poster is so delightful because you get to learn about things that happened in the 40s and 50s in the cadence of a 30 year old overly online feminist writer that got her start on tumblr
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Midnight Pals: Gross Time
Aron Beauregard: Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this the tale of the putrescent pustules of penelope pimplepus
Poe: ah yes the storied world of extreme horror
Poe: certainly missed that
Barker: look at mister gothic snob over here
Poe: i'm not being a snob i just
Barker: oh it's always gotta be big old castles and psychological dread for you, doesn't it edgar
Poe:
Barker: look, sometimes we like a bit of sick
Beauregard: this is a story of crustified carbuncles, viscous vomit, and sticky slimy squishy
Beauregard:
Beauregard: slippery
Beauregard:
Beauregard: uhhhhhhhhhh
Beauregard: splunge?
Beauregard: what if there was a guy and his brain melted out in big gooey greasy grimy glops of gray matter?
Poe: excuse me, aron, that's a little intense for dean here
Koontz: no it's not!
Koontz: stop treating me like a kid!
Koontz: i'm not scared of gross stuff! >:C
RL Stine: ha ha! that's so gross! i love it!
Stine: what else you got?
Beauregard: oh um
Beauregard: there's some
Beauregard: big gooey oozing zits?
Stine: are they oozing
Stine: GREEN slime?
Beauregard: uh
Beauregard: yes?
Stine: see? now that's how you do it
Beauregard: and some uhhhh
Beauregard: [noticing Joyce Carol Oates' foot] verucas! yes! there were some verucas!
Beauregard: i mean
Beauregard: vomitous verucas
Beauregard: so this house is filled with really gross trash
Beauregard: bacon rinds and chicken bones
Beauregard: drippy bits of ice cream cones
Beauregard: Prune pits, peach pits, orange peel
Beauregard: Gluppy glumps of cold oat meal
Beauregard: check this out
Beauregard: [picks nose]
Stine: ha ha! gross! ha ha!
Beauregard: watch this
Beauregard: i'm gonna eat it!
King: ha ha! no way! no way you're gonna do it!
Beauregard: I'm doing it!
King: oh my g-
King: Holy shit he's doing it!
King: the absolute madman!!
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