July242014

assholes with my whiskey, merciful.  

(Source: fytimolyphant, via inwayovermyhead)

9PM
8PM

accidents

loqui:

a slip
of the button,
of the tongue,
an aside; a stage
direction, instinctive,
under the breath
a declaration of love —
all control forgotten,
a press, a push of the button
and the whole world slides
to the ground, the flashing colour
of a summer dress fallen
as if the stars were tipped
to win. accidents
do happen.

7PM
“at the bottom of the ocean is a layer of water that has never moved…” Anne Carson, Red Doc> (via r1mbaud)

(via eclektic)

2PM

sixpenceee:

Lascaux Caves

Lascaux Caves is a complex of caves in southwestern France that is famous for its Paleolithic cave paintings. They contain 900 of the most perfect surviving examples of Upper Paleolithic art. These paintings are estimated to be 17,300 years old. They primarily consist of images of large animals, most of which are known from fossil evidence to have lived in the area at the time.

The caves have been banned to the public since 1963.  Any human presence in the caves is regarded as potentially destructive

OFFICIAL WEBSITE

(via darksilenceinsuburbia)

2PM
“To be a poet is a condition, not a profession.” Robert Frost (via observando)

(via lostandfoundfiction)

12PM
bloodfin:

dwellerinthelibrary:

The rebirth of the sun, from the Book of the Day, as seen in the tomb of Ramesses VI.

Masterful..

bloodfin:

dwellerinthelibrary:

The rebirth of the sun, from the Book of the Day, as seen in the tomb of Ramesses VI.

Masterful..

(via johnmyersart)

11AM
Wow. cool. Science rocks.

Wow. cool. Science rocks.

(Source: mannysiege, via brokencircadian)

11AM
kixiqu:

The absinthe drinker - Pablo Picasso

kixiqu:

The absinthe drinker - Pablo Picasso

(via myartmoods)

11AM

The Dangers of Talking to Myself

            “I tell what I literally was yesterday, and I

            try to explain to myself how I got here.”

                      — Fernando Pessoa, The Book of Disquiet

 

I wonder what I am waiting on now;

it doesn’t matter who I think I am,

I’ve come to realize I never knew.

Parameters constructed from the past

limit choice to predestination’s ice,

a cold binary dream of what was.

Memory clings to now with serrated

claws extracted only after decades

of leeching blood from impoverished soil.

We find happiness where we are able,

a cardinal’s quick flutter on a branch

before worry fingers us back to ground.

What was said and left undone remains

within memory’s bloodless self-absorption.

(July 24, 2014)

 

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