{"author":"Moonshine Noire","author_id":"Moonshine+Noire","total_quotes":21,"quotes":[{"text":"Sometimes it can be as brutally overwhelming as a tidal wave flooding every orifice, the suffocation, the pressure, the immensity of this damnable depression like an ocean, unsurmountable. It swallows me whole and gnaws at my very bones. It floods me over and over, drowning me over and over... It is a torturous broken record player with a scratched disc on repeat, the wailing disrupting any possible good remaining after the tsunami. It wails and wails inside my ribcage and inside my skull. I cannot make it stop.","author":"Moonshine Noire","tags":["agony","bones","depression","loneliness","mental-disorders","mental-health","metaphors","ocean","records","sea","similes","torture","tsunami","waves"],"id":7256,"author_id":"Moonshine+Noire"},{"text":"I could be that tenebrous enigma that floods out your words with sighs and frustration.","author":"Moonshine Noire","tags":["dark","enigma","frustration","lyrical-prose","murky","poetry","sighs","words"],"id":87283,"author_id":"Moonshine+Noire"},{"text":"(...) pick up your axe, start at the rootsdon't miss the trunk, never forget:to end life truly and finallystart at the roots or end there.","author":"Moonshine Noire","tags":["death","depression","determination","hurt","life","nature","nihilism","personification","suicide","tree"],"id":104013,"author_id":"Moonshine+Noire"},{"text":"She loves filming and taking photographs. I can imagine her making beautiful films in France or India or somewhere with a gorgeously colourful culture. She somehow reminds me of my favourite place in the world, she and Paris I can romanticize and immortalize in ceaseless poetry for the rest of my life.","author":"Moonshine Noire","tags":["art","beautiful","culture","film","france","girl","paris","photography","poetry"],"id":118604,"author_id":"Moonshine+Noire"},{"text":"Don't ask me to pray, instead ask me to act.","author":"Moonshine Noire","tags":["anarchy","freedom","humanity","life","political-philosophy","prayer","revolution","society"],"id":135755,"author_id":"Moonshine+Noire"},{"text":"This revolution will be noted. It will be successful and above all, it will be in words.","author":"Moonshine Noire","tags":["anarchism","anarchy","feminism","freedom","politics","revolution"],"id":151687,"author_id":"Moonshine+Noire"},{"text":"Is it all just a psychotic dream? What is life?","author":"Moonshine Noire","tags":["dream","existence","life","philosophy"],"id":180858,"author_id":"Moonshine+Noire"},{"text":"His room was a sickly dual-tone of crimson and charcoal, like an Untitled Rothko, the colours bleeding into each other horribly and then rather serenely. The overall effect was overwhelmingly unapologetic but it grew on you like a wart on your nose you didn't realise it was a part of your identity until one day it simply was. His room was his identity. Fiercely bold, avant-garde but never monotonous. He was red, he was black, he was bored, and he was fire. At least to me he seemed like fire. A tornado of fire that burned all in its wake leaving only the wretched brightness of annihilation. His room was where he charmed and disarmed us. We were his playthings. Nobody plays with fire and leaves unscarred. The fire soon seeps into chard and soot. The colours of his soul, his aura, and probably his heart if he didn't stop smoking.","author":"Moonshine Noire","tags":["aesthetic","aestheticism","apathy","art","color","colour","crimson","dark","fire","gothic","life","misanthropy","playthings","psychotic","roommates","rothko","smoking","society","sociopath","soot","soul","unapologetic","unrequited-love"],"id":194908,"author_id":"Moonshine+Noire"},{"text":"The worst stories usually make you think: 'but nobody had to die'.These are called true stories.","author":"Moonshine Noire","tags":["death","death-toll","disease","horror","life","murder","nightmares","politics","poverty","reality","society","stories","true-stories","true-story","war"],"id":210734,"author_id":"Moonshine+Noire"},{"text":"You're the fly on the wall hearing all, seeing allears of a wall hearing all the secretsperhaps you're the vines creeping over the old abandoned mansion wallsdusty, soulless and deadbringing a certain curious life to rubbleand I think you're the jewel-eyed geckosneaking around the warm summer wallsbetween jasmine and olive branchessticky pad toes, clinging to the wallspeeking in at lonely summer spicy love-makingthrough silk curtains from the bright orientbreathing in incense and tasting decadenceclimbing the sharply barbed wallsthe smooth cemented white-washed wallsbecause walls breathe too.","author":"Moonshine Noire","tags":["colour","gecko","life","love","oriental","poetry","summer"],"id":210757,"author_id":"Moonshine+Noire"}],"pagination":{"page":1,"page_size":10,"total":21,"pages":3,"next":"?page=2\u0026page_size=10"}}