My name is Aza. I like literature, art, humans, and all things pretty and ugly alike.

~ LDS. BYU. Elem Ed major. INFP. modern vampire of pity. 
I think you might have just become one of my favorite poets?? your writing is so gorgeous and somewhat synaesthetic in a really delightful, wondrous way.

Ah that means so much.  Thanks for the positive comment, really.  I needed this today. Have a great day/night <3


what a beautiful day to not be in high school


FACT OF THE DAY:  mars is called the red planet because during the cold war it sided with the communists



Gustave Caillebotte - The Floor Scrapers (1875-6)

Original on top, later version below

"Despite the effort Caillebotte put into the painting, it was rejected by France’s most prestigious art exhibition, The Salon, in 1875. The depiction of working-class people in their trade, not fully clothed, shocked the jurors and was deemed a ‘vulgar subject matter.’ 

The images of the floor scrapers came to be associated with Degas’s paintings of washerwomen, also presented at the same exhibition and similarly scorned as ‘vulgar’”.


“The important parts exist in the silences between the words.”
Margaret Atwood, from Cat’s Eye (via violentwavesofemotion)
“Both you and I have a lot of intensive presence. And an enormous ability to put ourselves in other people’s emotions. And especially each other’s. We also have an intensive ability to affect other people and make them experience what we experience. And we have an ability to affect each other. We make each other alive. Doesn’t make a difference if it hurts.”
Ingmar Bergman, from a letter to Liv Ullmann (via violentwavesofemotion)

Sandro Botticelli. “Primavera” (Allegory of Spring), Detail, 1482.

Sandro Botticelli. “Primavera” (Allegory of Spring), Detail, 1482.

“Why does even the best person hold back something from another? Why not say directly what we feel if we know that what we entrust won’t be scattered to the winds? As it is, everyone looks much tougher than he really is, as if he felt it’d be an insult to his feeling if he expressed them too readily.”
Fyodor Dostoevsky, from White Nights (via violentwavesofemotion)
“Do you imagine at night someone
going to bed the very moment
you are going to bed? Turning
out the light?
And isn’t it so quiet you swear
the heart is telepathic.
Isn’t it—”
Beckian Fritz Goldberg, from “Eros in His Striped Shirt,” In the Badlands of Desire (Cleveland State University Poetry Center, 1993)
“Hospice recommended we starve him. I did.
I can sleep all day. Things happen and my father dies.
I go to Italy, I fall apart under Tintoretto, those smudgy
crucifixions. In another life, I am promised to a lawyer.
I have a wedding chest heavy with linen.
When I wake in a small boat filling with ocean,
my father sews the white dress into my skin.
I am given medicine to help me sleep. People are hired
to stand around my bed and hold my wrists down while
I writhe. This isn’t what I imagined, but isn’t necessarily worse.
The wedding plate shatters. My once-beloved reads me my
Miranda rights. Owls keep crashing into the bedroom
window mid-day and I’m not allowed to touch them.
I’m made to kneel at a safe distance. My father always
makes me turn away while he snaps the owl’s neck.
He is saving it, I know this, from something worse.
But I have the right to see what happens to their yellow
eyes. Do they stay open? Does he stroke their wings to calm
them down until, in his hands, they go slack?
Anything I say can and will be used against me
in the middle of the night. Boat, I dream, fills with
talons. I have the right to use them how I want.”