vita and violet

Che poi, non si può essere gelosi di una persona che non ci appartiene. Non si può. Eppure capita. Sarà che siamo troppo deboli, o meglio, i nostri cuori sono deboli. Ci innamoriamo sempre, e molto spesso delle persone sbagliate, e allora siamo fottuti. “Al cuor non si comanda” dicono. Ed è vero, il cuore fa come cazzo gli pare, batte per quelle persone che di te se ne sbattono alla grande. E allora ti chiudi in te stesso, cominci a crearti un mondo tutto tuo, fatto di illusioni e false speranze, di sogni spesso irrealizzabili. E vorresti piangere e urlare, vorresti essere preso e stretto il più forte possibile, vorresti uno di quegli abbracci che ti scaldano il cuore, che non ti fanno respirare, ma quando sei solo tu, tu e il tuo mondo, chi ti abbraccia?

bisexuality for everyone, or: the vita sackville-west story

Vita Sackville-West: Violet, Virgina, and all the others

Marriage is one of those things that just fascinates me, particularly as marriage equality becomes more and more of a reality (yay). I don’t really see the appeal of a piece of paper saying that I’m essentially contractually bound to someone, on pain of losing tons of cash in a divorce. Still, I expect I’ll do it, partially because—in America, at least—marriage on paper brings a lot of legal advantages that I’d like to indulge in, and partially because I like me-centric parties. Also I’m really into wedding dresses. And wedding cake.

Still, what makes marriage so special? Legal marriage. Because, in a sense, isn’t anyone who commits to one’s partner “married”? (Not that marriage equality isn’t important, because everyone should have the same legal rights no matter what the gender of their partner.) But yeah. What I’m getting at is “Portrait of a Marriage” by Vita-Sackville West (via her personal journals and writings) and her son, Nigel Nicolson. The marriage in question? That of Vita and Nigel’s father, Harold Nicolson. They were both rather upper-crust, rather snobby (particularly in Vita’s case) and rather rich. They were also—both–rather bi.


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My days are consumed by this impotent longing for you, and my nights are riddled with insufferable dreams… I want you. I want you hungrily, frenziedly, passionately. I am starving for you, if you must know it. Not only the physical you, but your fellowship, your sympathy, the innumerable points of view we share. I can’t exist without you, you are my affinity, the intellectual “pendent” to me, my twin spirit. I can’t help it! no more can you! … We complete each other…

Mitya, we must. God knows we have waited long enough! Something will go “snap” in my brain if we wait any longer and I shall tell everyone I know that we are going away and why. Do you think I’m going to waste any more of my precious youth waiting for you to screw up sufficient courage to make a bolt? Not I!…

I want you for my own, I want to go away with you. I must and will and damn the world and damn the consequences and anyone had better look out for themselves who dares to become an obstacle in my path.

—  Letter from Violet Trefusis to Vita Sackville-West
Nessuno vuole sentirsi responsabile se la sua vita fa schifo, la gente preferisce pagare un'analista che ascolti le sue stronzate e la faccia sentire speciale, così può dare la colpa alla madre pazza per tutto quello che è andato storto.
—  American Horror Story