“There was nothing to talk about anymore. The only thing to do was go.”
— Jack Kerouac; On The Road

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@0uxi
“There was nothing to talk about anymore. The only thing to do was go.”
— Jack Kerouac; On The Road
praised and confused by grace lee, 2023, oil on linen, 8 × 9.75 inches
— Anne Carson, Eros the Bittersweet, 1986.
the personification of death being portrayed as deeply kind in fiction is something that reduces me to tears every single time
Garden of Death by Hugo Simberg is one of my favorite pieces of art for that very reason.
Life is a garden and Death is the caring gardener
Zelda Fitzgerald, from a letter to Francis Scott Fitzgerald, April 15th 1919
— Albert Camus, The Possessed
Monika Marchewka (Polish, b. 1988)
Dream, 2022
Oil on canvas
Natalie Díaz, from “American Arithmetic”, Postcolonial Love Poem (2020)
“Lost in the mantra of stylised violence, Ballard hypnotised himself, exorcising his grief with the ritual repetition of automobile trauma, exploring it from every conceivable angle across every artistic discipline available to him. But isn’t it the case that artists dabbling in the black arts, mediators between worlds, tend to lose themselves in the glare after flying too close to the sun? For incantations of this kind, repeated often enough, can bring something back with them when the voyager, the cosmonaut of inner space, re-enters our world. There are ruptures in space-time. Matter collides and there is fallout, like a Sumerian demon woken from the dead and hungry for souls.”
— Simon Sellars, Applied Ballardianism (via sun-death)
“It is unfair how familiar some of us are with struggle, how fluently we speak its language.”
— Noor Shirazie, Into the Wildfire: Battle Scars
Tsubosaka-ji Temple, Japan. Photography by kix. @KIX_dayinmylife
Tetsuo Aoki
Two People
Woodcut
Davidson Galleries
"The Dream"
Norman Lindsay
1923
華 by Yuji Tezuka (2005)
Cristin O’Keefe Aptowicz, “Not As Smart As I Think I Am”
Submitted by a-sea-of-memories.