Oh the glory when you ran outside with your shirt tucked in and your shoes untied and you told me not to follow you.
and the last fantastic book flung out of the tenement window, and the last door closed at 4 A.M. and the last telephone slammed at the wall in reply and the last furnished room emptied down to the last piece of mental furniture, a yellow paper rose twisted on a wire hanger in the closet, and even that imaginary, nothing but a hopeful little bit of hallucination—
"Howl," Allen Ginsberg (via thefirstaidkit)
leveloneteam:
Terrarium and photography by Zik

leveloneteam:

Terrarium and photography by Zik

Love me, because love doesn’t exist, and I have tried everything that does.
Jonathan Safran Foer, Everything Is Illuminated (via theburnthatkeepseverything)
desenharts:

by Thetinytotem

desenharts:

by Thetinytotem

naimabarcelona:

Crochet Sweater & Triple Chain Harness

naimabarcelona:

Crochet Sweater & Triple Chain Harness

All the new thinking is about loss.
In this it resembles all the old thinking.
The idea, for example, that each particular erases
the luminous clarity of a general idea. That the clown-
faced woodpecker probing the dead sculpted trunk
of that black birch is, by his presence,
some tragic falling off from a first world
of undivided light. Or the other notion that,
because there is in this world no one thing
to which the bramble of blackberry corresponds,
a word is elegy to what it signifies.
We talked about it late last night and in the voice
of my friend, there was a thin wire of grief, a tone
almost querulous. After a while I understood that,
talking this way, everything dissolves: justice,
pine, hair, woman, you and I. There was a woman
I made love to and I remembered how, holding
her small shoulders in my hands sometimes,
I felt a violent wonder at her presence
like a thirst for salt, for my childhood river
with its island willows, silly music from the pleasure boat,
muddy places where we caught the little orange-silver fish
called pumpkinseed. It hardly had to do with her.
Longing, we say, because desire is full
of endless distances. I must have been the same to her.
But I remember so much, the way her hands dismantled bread,
the thing her father said that hurt her, what
she dreamed. There are moments when the body is as numinous
as words, days that are the good flesh continuing.
Such tenderness, those afternoons and evenings,
saying blackberry, blackberry, blackberry.

Meditation at Lagunitas, Robert Hass

http://honeychurch.tumblr.com/

adarasanchez:

Romance VII.*Based on a photograph by Álvaro Cantero.

adarasanchez:

Romance VII.
*Based on a photograph by Álvaro Cantero.

poisonappleprintshop:

A french twist with my Elemental Child Nuit crown.

poisonappleprintshop:

A french twist with my Elemental Child Nuit crown.

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