And when at last you find someone to whom you feel you can pour out your soul, you stop in shock at the words you utter— they are so rusty, so ugly, so meaningless and feeble from being kept in the small cramped dark inside you so long.

Sylvia Plath, The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath (via fuckinq)

Seaside Improvisation - Richard Siken


Seaside Improvisation by Richard Siken

I take off my hands and I give them to you but you don’t
    want them, so I take them back
  and put them on the wrong way, the wrong wrists. The yard is dark,
the tomatoes are next to the whitewashed wall,
    the book on the table is about Spain,
      the windows are painted shut.
Tonight you’re thinking of cities under crowns
   of snow and I stare at you like I’m looking through a window,
       counting birds.
    You wanted happiness, I can’t blame you for that,
and maybe a mouth sounds idiotic when it blathers on about joy
    but tell me
you love this, tell me you’re not miserable.
      You do the math, you expect the trouble.
         The seaside town. The electric fence.
Draw a circle with a piece of chalk. Imagine standing in a constant cone
      of light. Imagine surrender. Imagine being useless.
A stone on the path means the tea’s not ready,
    a stone in the hand means somebody’s angry, the stone inside you still
hasn’t hit bottom.

So yeah, I’m kind of interested in what people say and what they mean. It’s interesting to play because that’s immediate conflict. That’s drama. If everyone’s just saying what they feel and doing whatever they want, there’s no drama in the world.

Martin Freeman (x)

interesting in the context of his other roles

(via graceebooks)