Lolita

Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo-lee-ta: the tip of the tongue taking a trip of three steps down the palate to tap, at three, on the teeth. Lo. Lee. Ta.

She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita.

– Vladimir Nabokov

I’ve never read a book so outrageously horrifying and beautiful and tender all at once. And funny. It’s brilliant. It’s insane. It’s a masterpiece! If I was the kind that could stay up all night I’d have finished this book by now.  But I am not. I am the kind that drops dead by two in the  morning. But it is actually morning  now, and only 12, and I have pretty much the whole day to read in.

Lo-lee-ta.
Fuck!

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Author: Kirtana K

I paint and make music and blog like a maniac. These days I try to run. But I have chicken legs and lungs the size of two-rupee balloons. I fail. I like pajamas and striped socks and books that read like song and songs that sound like poetry and strangers who read this page. And Maggi when I'm sick or cold or sad or celebrating. They'll find noodles in my veins if ever they cut me open. And potatoes. And maybe a tiny bit of whiskey. I'll be an Unidentified Living Object and they'll put my insides on display. It will be crazy. It will be awesome. It will.

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