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In my mind I am eloquent I can climb intricate scaffolds of words to reach the highest cathedral ceilings and paint my thoughts. But when I open my mouth, everything collapses.

Isaac Marion

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Isaac Marion
Age: 42
Born: 1981
Born: December 30
Music Journalist
Novelist
Writer
Seattle
Washington
Words
Collapse
Collapses
Everything
Mouth
Cathedral
Mind
Mouths
Cathedrals
Paint
Ceilings
Reach
Intricate
Highest
Eloquent
Thoughts
Climb
Open
Climbs

More quotes by Isaac Marion

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A month ago there was nothing on Earth I missed, enjoyed, or longed for. I knew I could lose everything and not feel anything, and I rested easy in that knowledge. But I'm growing tired of easy things.
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Stop. Breathe those useless breaths. Drop this piece of life you’re holding to your lips. Where are you? How long have you been here? Stop now. You have to stop. Squeeze shut your stinging eyes, and take another bite.
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If there are rules, we're the ones making them. We can change them whenever we want to.
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I can no longer believe in any voodoo spell or laboratory virus. This is something deeper, darker. This comes from the cosmos, from the stars, or the unknown blackness behind them. The shadows in God's boarded-up basement.
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There’s not really such thing as ‘good’ or ‘bad’ people, there’s just like…humanity. And it gets broken sometimes.
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I used to split my time between writing, music and painting. I would work on a book and then abandon it, start a band, do an album, quit music, then do a gallery show. Eventually I decided to give writing a serious shot.
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That's why we have memory. And the opposite of memory— hope. So things that are gone can still matter. So we can built off our pasts and make future.
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I can’t seem to make myself care about anything to the right or left of the present.
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It was fun, but it's over now. This is how things go.
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Deep under our feet the Earth holds its molten breath, while the bones of countless generations watch us and wait.
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I want to change my punctuation. I long for exclamation marks, but I'm drowning in ellipses.
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What happened? How did I get here? How could I have known that my choices mattered?
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Why is it beautiful that humanity keeps coming back? So does herpes.
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In my palm I can feel the echo of her pulse, standing in for the absense of mine.
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Here it comes. My inevitable death, ignoring me all those years when I wished for it daily, arriving only after I've decided I want to live forever.
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Every time I go to sleep, I know I may never wake up. How could anyone expect to? You drop your tiny, helpless mind into a bottomless well, crossing your fingers and hoping when you pull it out on its flimsy fishing wire it hasn't been gnawed to bones by nameless beasts below.
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I feel an unfamiliar but pleasant sensation in my lips, tugging them upward. This is... new.
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When the entire world is built on death and horror, when existence is a constant state of panic, it's hard to get worked up about any one thing. Specific fears have become irrelevant. We've replace them with a smothering blanket far worse.
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She is Living and I'm Dead, but I'd like to believe we're both human. Call me an idealist.
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I don't want to hear music, I don't want the sunrise to be pink. The world is a liar. Its ugliness is overwhelming the scraps of beauty make it worse.
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