♥1030

nevver:

Frank Cheyne Papé

♥375 "I didn’t like the way I looked, the way I dressed and moved, what I achieved and what I felt I was worth. But there was so much energy in me, such belief that one day I’d be handsome and clever and superior and admired, such anticipation when I met new people and new situations. Is that what makes me sad? The eagerness and belief that filled me then and exacted a pledge from life that life could never fulfill? Sometimes I see the same eagerness and belief in the faces of children and teenagers and the sight brings back the same sadness I feel in remembering myself. Is this what sadness is all about? Is it what comes over us when beautiful memories shatter in hindsight because the remembered happiness fed not just on actual circumstances but on a promise that was not kept?"

— Bernhard Schlink, The Reader  (via t-e-l-e-p-a-t-h-y)

(Source: ntrvrts, via t-e-l-e-p-a-t-h-y)

(via bakefestatspliffanys)

(Source: ziggyminx, via blueveinsblue)

(Source: chouetteharfang, via blueveinsblue)

(via blueveinsblue)

♥272 "Have you ever noticed?—people, no matter how beautiful or desirable, invariably will, if observed closely while going about their daily business of keeping alive, begin to seem like monsters."

— Donald Antrim, ”The Verificationist”  (via mirroir)

(Source: mythologyofblue, via mirroir)

cavetocanvas:

Cecily Brown, Black Painting I, 2002

From the Broad Art Foundation:

The Broad Art Foundation’s Black Painting 1, 2002 is part of a series of dark works that muses on the connection between sex and death and demonstrates the complexity of Brown’s sources and concerns. A viewer can detect the hint of many references, notably Goya’s famous etching       The Sleep of Reason Produces Monsters, Henry Fuseli’s  The Nightmare, 1782 and William Blake’s Jerusalem, 1820. However, Brown’s work is not easily reducible to any one forerunner and can be seen as a critique of these historical works. Unlike the ravished and intruded females of Blake and Fuseli, the painting presents a solitary male tortured by ambiguous if not evil spirits of the night. Goya’s bats and Fluseli’s horrible incubus become a cloud of fading flashes of white strokes, but it is ultimately uncertain whether the flashes come from an outside source or are produced by the man’s prone, orgasmic body.

(via tryings)

journalofanobody:

“It is like the keening sound the moon makes sometimes,/rising.”   ― Robert Hass

(Image: Temblor Moon by Geoffrey Agrons)

♥2100

Edgar Allan Poe’s manuscript for “Annabel Lee,” published in 1849, the year of his death. It was the last work he ever completed.

(Source: free-parking, via mirroir)

House of my heart

is a cocoon spun from

silk dipped in shards of glass.

♥134 "The last time I held him, the last time we spoke, just
a whisper—hoarse—that marries now this many-voiced mansion
of storm and from him I’ve learned to slip my body,

to be the storm governed by the law of bounty given
then taken away. Shush and glide. This tide’s running
high, its silken muscular tearing ruled by cycles,
relentless, the drawn lavish damasks—teal, aquamarine,
silvered steel, desire’s tidal forces, such urgent

fullness, the elaborate collapse, and withdrawal
beyond the drawn curtain that shows the secret
desert of bare ruched sand. I’ve learned this,
I’ve learned to be the horn calling home
the journeyer, saying farewell. And here’s

the foghorn’s simple two-note wail,
mechanical stark aria that ripples
out to shelter all of us—
our mortal burden of dreams—
adrift in the sea’s restless shouldering."

— Lynda Hull, from “Rivers into Seas” (via proustitute)

♥87 "To say ‘I love you’ one must know how to say the ‘I’. The meaning of the ‘I’ is an independent, self-sufficient entity that does not exist for the sake of any other person."

— Howard Roark from The Fountainhead by Ayn Rand. (via heyitsmario)

(via antiquatedgenius)

(Source: bobbyce, via journalofanobody)

♥467 "It hurts to let go. Sometimes it seems the harder you try to hold on to something or someone the more it wants to get away. You feel like some kind of criminal for having felt, for having wanted. For having wanted to be wanted. It confuses you, because you think that your feelings were wrong and it makes you feel so small because it’s so hard to keep it inside when you let it out and it doesn’t come back. You’re left so alone that you can’t explain. Damn, there’s nothing like that, is there? I’ve been there and you have too."

— Henry Rollins (via 13neighbors)

(via plumed)