my last.fm
paperfangs.tumblr.com
ask / tell
Int. Trailer Night directed by Jim Jarmusch, from the collection of short films Ten Minutes Older: The Trumpet.
you’ll be different in the spring, i know
you’re a seasonal beast
like the starfish that drifted with the tide, with the tide
so until your blood runs to meet the next full moon
your madness fits in nicely with my own, with my own
your lunacy fits neatly with my own - my very own
we’re not alone
Robert Wyatt, Sea Song
Where do I begin? It has been a little over a month since we stopped filming. In a way, it seems like years, and in another, only yesterday. As I sit down now to write this, so many emotions arise. The gift and the experience that you gave me are beyond expression of words. I am aware that your death also allowed an old part of myself to finally die… a very self-destructive part. Through you, I came face-to-face with my own dark side. I feel as if I have lived a whole lifetime in those two short months of filming. I will never forget how, the week after we finished, I suddenly became aware that my thoughts were my own again. My mind and my life had been completely occupied by you. You came to me morning, noon, and night—especially night. That was your time, the darkness of midnight. You continually wove your spirit into my dream world, revealing bits and pieces of yourself, myself, and our fears and struggles. The thing I remember most about you, though, Laura, is your loneliness. That loneliness haunted me. Walking back into my empty hotel room by myself each day, left to deal with the fragmented pieces of my own life, your loneliness would still fill my room. My prayer is that you are now someplace where you are truly loved and at peaceful rest.
Much love and gratitude,
Me— Sheryl Lee’s personal diary, 1992
(via goldalinne)
The first page of Vladimir Nabokov’s English copy of The Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka
(via likeafieldmouse)

