Posts tagged "sylvia plath tattoos"
  1. Notes: 12 / 6 hours ago  from chrissy-chaos-remains
    chrissy-chaos-remains:

New tattoo. :3
It is another Sylvia Plath quote.
This one is from the Bell Jar; “I listened to the old brag of My heart. I am. I am. I am.
-x0x0 Chrissy Chaos

    chrissy-chaos-remains:

    New tattoo. :3

    It is another Sylvia Plath quote.

    This one is from the Bell Jar; “I listened to the old brag of My heart. I am. I am. I am.

    -x0x0 Chrissy Chaos

     
  2. Notes: 13 / 2 days ago  from chrissy-chaos-remains
    chrissy-chaos-remains:

Got My new tatt!!!
-x0x0 Chrissy Chaos


The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.
—The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, Letter June-July 1953

    chrissy-chaos-remains:

    Got My new tatt!!!

    -x0x0 Chrissy Chaos

    The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.

    The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, Letter June-July 1953

     
  3. Notes: 10 / 4 days ago  from mwayheyhey
    mwayheyhey:

#nofilter big fucking thank you to the brilliant, and mad cool, @msapia for #tatting me up today.  “I shut my eyes and the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.) - excerpt from #Madgirlslovesong by #Sylviaplath <3 #scriptattoos #biceptat #girlswithtats #girlswithink #girlswithtattoos #inkedgirls #batman #killem #likeaboss #impulsive decisions are always the best. #noregrets #suicidegirls here I come ;) #mwayproblems


I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;I lift my lids and all is born again.(I think I made you up inside my head.)
—Sylvia Plath, Mad Girl’s Love Song, 1954

    mwayheyhey:

    #nofilter big fucking thank you to the brilliant, and mad cool, @msapia for #tatting me up today.
    “I shut my eyes and the world drops dead. (I think I made you up inside my head.) - excerpt from #Madgirlslovesong by #Sylviaplath <3 #scriptattoos #biceptat #girlswithtats #girlswithink #girlswithtattoos #inkedgirls #batman #killem #likeaboss #impulsive decisions are always the best. #noregrets #suicidegirls here I come ;) #mwayproblems


    I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;

    I lift my lids and all is born again.
    (I think I made you up inside my head.)

    —Sylvia Plath, Mad Girl’s Love Song, 1954

     
  4. Notes: 4 / 1 week ago  from themisdirected
    themisdirected:

s for Syl P

    themisdirected:

    s for Syl P

     
  5. Notes: 26 / 1 week ago  from desperatelydoomed
    desperatelydoomed:

Got my first tattoo today


The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.
—The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

    desperatelydoomed:

    Got my first tattoo today

    The worst enemy to creativity is self-doubt.

    —The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

     
  6. Notes: 12 / 1 week ago  from twistertotheslammer
    twistertotheslammer:

I’m in love.

    twistertotheslammer:

    I’m in love.

     
  7. Notes: 29 / 1 week ago  from twistertotheslammer
    twistertotheslammer:




"I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.  From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked.  One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out.  I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose.  I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."  - Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar



My tenth tattoo is a memento to Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar done by Travis at Spike-O-Matic Tattoos in Madison, Wisconsin.

    twistertotheslammer:

    "I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story.  From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked.  One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out.  I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose.  I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet."  - Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

    My tenth tattoo is a memento to Sylvia Plath’s The Bell Jar done by Travis at Spike-O-Matic Tattoos in Madison, Wisconsin.

     
  8. Notes: 9 / 1 week ago  from carmelovalone

    carmelovalone:

    My newest tattoos. Some highlighting of my old Banksy piece aka the bomb girl I got in 2003. Then an additional cat sketch made by Sylvia Plath circa 1956. 

  9. Notes: 42 / 2 weeks ago  from akurlydisturbance
    akurlydisturbance:

My new Sylvia Plath tattoo. No need to fear the worst when you’ve already seen it.


ELM
I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root;  It is what you fear. I do not fear it: I have been there.  Is it the sea you hear in me,  Its dissatisfactions? Or the voice of nothing, that was you madness? Love is a shadow.  How you lie and cry after it. Listen: these are its hooves: it has gone off, like a horse.  All night I shall gallup thus, impetuously,  Till your head is a stone, your pillow a little turf, Echoing, echoing.  Or shall I bring you the sound of poisons?  This is rain now, the big hush. And this is the fruit of it: tin white, like arsenic.  I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets. Scorched to the root My red filaments burn and stand,a hand of wires. Now I break up in pieces that fly about like clubs. A wind of such violence Will tolerate no bystanding: I must shriek.  The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me Cruelly, being barren. Her radience scathes me. Or perhaps I have caught her. I let her go. I let her go  Diminshed and flat, as after radical surgery. How your bad dreams possess and endow me.  I am inhabited by a cry. Nightly it flaps out Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.  I am terrified by this dark thing That sleeps in me;  All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity. Clouds pass and disperse. Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrevables?  Is it for such I agitate my heart?  I am incapable of more knowledge. What is this, this face  So murderous in its strangle of branches?— Its snaky acids kiss. It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults  That kill, that kill, that kill.
—written 19 April 1962

    akurlydisturbance:

    My new Sylvia Plath tattoo. No need to fear the worst when you’ve already seen it.

    ELM

    I know the bottom, she says. I know it with my great tap root;
    It is what you fear.
    I do not fear it: I have been there.

    Is it the sea you hear in me,
    Its dissatisfactions?
    Or the voice of nothing, that was you madness?

    Love is a shadow.
    How you lie and cry after it.
    Listen: these are its hooves: it has gone off, like a horse.

    All night I shall gallup thus, impetuously,
    Till your head is a stone, your pillow a little turf,
    Echoing, echoing.

    Or shall I bring you the sound of poisons?
    This is rain now, the big hush.
    And this is the fruit of it: tin white, like arsenic.

    I have suffered the atrocity of sunsets.
    Scorched to the root
    My red filaments burn and stand,a hand of wires.

    Now I break up in pieces that fly about like clubs.
    A wind of such violence
    Will tolerate no bystanding: I must shriek.

    The moon, also, is merciless: she would drag me
    Cruelly, being barren.
    Her radience scathes me. Or perhaps I have caught her.

    I let her go. I let her go
    Diminshed and flat, as after radical surgery.
    How your bad dreams possess and endow me.

    I am inhabited by a cry.
    Nightly it flaps out
    Looking, with its hooks, for something to love.

    I am terrified by this dark thing
    That sleeps in me;
    All day I feel its soft, feathery turnings, its malignity.

    Clouds pass and disperse.
    Are those the faces of love, those pale irretrevables?
    Is it for such I agitate my heart?

    I am incapable of more knowledge.
    What is this, this face
    So murderous in its strangle of branches?—

    Its snaky acids kiss.
    It petrifies the will. These are the isolate, slow faults
    That kill, that kill, that kill.

    —written 19 April 1962

     
  10. Notes: 10 / 2 weeks ago  from kackleackle
    via kackleackle.tumblr.com
     
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"Wear your heart on your skin in this life." ― Sylvia Plath, Johnny Panic and the Bible of Dreams: Short Stories, Prose, and Diary Excerpts

This blog is a spin-off from my main blog http://lovingsylvia.tumblr.com/

Trying to create a collection of ALL the Sylvia Plath tattoos I can find on the world wide web... and there are tonns of them out there!

Even though sometimes it sees that I can never collect all the tattoos I want and I can only go mad. I am horribly limited. ;)

Have fun and get inspired! ;)

P.S.: If you want, you can always submit your tattoo to: lovingsylviaplath@gmail.com
 
 

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