Above us sky

Passion will make you crazy, but is there any other way to live? No.

[anxietyproblem]

[poetry-is-an-atmosphere]

“I will remember your small room, the feel of you, the light in the window, your records, your books, our morning coffee, our noons, our nights, our bodies spilled together, sleeping, the tiny flowing currents, immediate and forever, your leg my leg, your arm my arm, your smile and the warmth of you who made me laugh again.”

— Charles Bukowski (via thelovejournals)

[petaltexturedskies]

And I did not give to anyone the responsibility for my life. It is mine. I made it. And can do what I want to with it. Live it. Give it back, someday, without bitterness, to the wild and weedy dunes.

Mary Oliver, from "Staying Alive" in Upstream: Selected Essays

[poetry-is-an-atmosphere]

“I will remember your small room, the feel of you, the light in the window, your records, your books, our morning coffee, our noons, our nights, our bodies spilled together, sleeping, the tiny flowing currents, immediate and forever, your leg my leg, your arm my arm, your smile and the warmth of you who made me laugh again.”

— Charles Bukowski (via thelovejournals)

[marcusbrutus]

the worst part about ocd and ocd-like tendencies is that you think hyper-analyzing your thoughts and constantly psychoanalyzing yourself will fix you but that's actually part of the disorder. it's the disorder. disordering.

[kisxmesoft]

[beyonceisstraight]

“I used to worship inside temples, till I saw that everything around me was holy. Waterfall, stone, grass. All pure spirit. Now like a mad man, I worship everything I see, like you.”

— Jai Kumar (Kama Sutra: A Tale of Love 1996)

[out-andabout]

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[out-andabout]

frachella

[out-andabout]

more

[ashleykaneharper]

[ashleykaneharper]

[foxeia]

[undinesea]

A novel worth reading is an education of the heart. It enlarges your sense of human possibility, of what human nature is, of what happens in the world. It’s a creator of inwardness.

Susan Sontag, The Art of Fiction No. 143, from The Paris Review, issue no. 137

[sorrrowfull]

[mournfulroses]

“I am sitting at my kitchen table waiting for my lover to arrive with lettuce and tomatoes and rum and sherry wine and a big floury loaf of bread in the fading sunlight. Coffee is percolating gently, and my mood is mellow. I have been very happy lately, just wallowing in it selfishly, knowing it will not last very long, which is all the more reason to enjoy it now.”

— Tennessee Williams, from a letter to Donald Windham wr. c. July 1943

[rainwashedsoul]