dmitri kasterine, running man, venice, 1962
posted by/ thanks to wonderfulambiguity
1/27 22:09 - m3zzaluna - 894 notes
1/27 22:00 - stickyeyelids - 16 notes
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
Melody Gardot, “One Day”, Worrisome Heart (2008).
One day you will be mine
The clouds will part the sun will shine
One day you will be mine
One day you will arise
To see the stars within my eyes
One day you will be mine
1/27 21:39 - 3 notes
natk:
Life is what you think is waiting for you outside that front door, crying ‘use me’, but you can’t, not yet, not now, because you’re broke, you’re broken, you’re busy, you haven’t graduated, you can’t get the time from work, you can’t get the time at all. Life is not out that front door, waiting, it is in the room, it is the ache in your hand that you get when you write; it is the clothes you put on before you go to work; it is the boy or the girl that you loved, or you still love, or who loved you, and it is not waiting. It slides by in the seconds, as the earth moves around the sun. It slides by in the minutes, the days, the weeks, like the lost dream buried beneath a lament. It slides by in the months, as silent as the exhalation of spring; the coming of autumn, when the trees shrug off their green raiment for a cloak of red. It slids by and all you can think about is living it, well, look now, look up, you already are.
1/27 21:27 - natk - 15 notes
The heat is getting to me. It comes as a depletion of air, forcing films of water from my skin and it’s like breathing from the spout of a vacuum cleaner minus all the dust. I read of an English autumn, shuffling leaves and the smell of earth, sunshine slipping off bronzed foliage onto a road leading downhill. Cars weave by and it’s like a river minus all the water but still I am sinking, turning and oscillating, drowning faithfully as expected. Sleep beckons but I am tired of the shadows I get under the eyes and the endless droughts inside of them. The only dream left is the dizzying heights the climber hopes to reach and the angel fears to fall. And the mortal wonders at the use of it at all.
1/27 21:27 - 2 notes
[Flash 9 is required to listen to audio.]
The Boy with the Arab Strap // Belle & Sebastian
1/17 10:04 - atlanticrefreshment - 8 notes
"In the black hours when I lie sleepless,
near drowning, dread-heavy, your face
is the bright lure I look for, love’s hook
piercing me, hauling me cleanly up."
near drowning, dread-heavy, your face
is the bright lure I look for, love’s hook
piercing me, hauling me cleanly up."
- Kim Addonizio, Mermaid Song.
1/15 14:56 - 16 notes
"You need me like ice needs the mountain
On which it breeds. Like print needs the page.
You move in me like the tongue in a mouth,
Like wind in the leaves of summer trees,
Gust-fists, hollow except for movement and desire
Which is movement. You taste me the way the claws
Of a pigeon taste that window-ledge on which it sits,
The way water tastes rust in the pipes it shuttles through
Beneath a city, unfolding and luminous with industry.
Before you were born, the table of elements
Was lacking, and I as a noble gas floated
Free of attachment. Before you were born,
The sun and the moon were paper-thin plates
Some machinist at his desk merely clicked into place."
On which it breeds. Like print needs the page.
You move in me like the tongue in a mouth,
Like wind in the leaves of summer trees,
Gust-fists, hollow except for movement and desire
Which is movement. You taste me the way the claws
Of a pigeon taste that window-ledge on which it sits,
The way water tastes rust in the pipes it shuttles through
Beneath a city, unfolding and luminous with industry.
Before you were born, the table of elements
Was lacking, and I as a noble gas floated
Free of attachment. Before you were born,
The sun and the moon were paper-thin plates
Some machinist at his desk merely clicked into place."
- Monica Ferrell, Rime Riche.
1/15 14:54 - 8 notes
Yesterday I went to the park near my house with Emile and Sabs and a 12 year old and we tried to play Tiggy (which I hadn’t played since primary school) and I was huffing and puffing after about two minutes of it. It’s just as well we didn’t attempt to play Forty-Forty because I’m quite sure I would’ve passed out quietly behind a bush or something from the excitement of being a kid all over again if not the actual physical exertion itself.
I’m also quite certain gyms are a complete waste of money, so are yoga and swimming and boxing and whatever else lessons you can think of. We should all just rent a 12 year old for an hour every day. All they want is Coca-Cola and some weird lolly called “Fads”.
Food currency rocks.
1/15 14:34 - 4 notes
1/15 14:25 - teachingliteracy - 2,580 notes
Kayama Matazo（加山又造 Japanese, 1927-2004）
Winter
(via iamjapanese:)
1/11 21:59 - huong1952 - 261 notes
