[lunarloops]

Permanecen los restos

[inneroptics]

Edward James in Front of On the Threshold of Liberty, 1937

[16o]

Some of the hundreds of love letters I found at an abandoned mansion in Cornwall 2013

[buggirl]

Look at the gold borders on this one!! 

Maquipucuna, Ecuador

[udenslauta]

[inneroptics]

Don Donaghy 

[logija-deactivated20160411]

Lovers and Lautrec by Joseph Lorusso

[regardintemporel]

Urs Luthi - Sans Titre, 1975

[almostanobject-blog]

Andy Goldsworthy, progress shot

[famed-deactivated20150409]

[safe-angel-deactivated20150114]

Grotesque Figure, Park of Palazzo Orsini, Bomarzo, Italy photo by Herbert List, 1952

[kafkaesque-world]

In a way, you are poetry material. You are full of cloudy subtleties I am willing to spend a lifetime figuring out.

Franz Kafka, Letters to Milena (via kafkaesque-world)

[oregontopatagonia]

[conflictingheart]

"Woman. Do not wait for a poet. You are already poetry."

A little spray paint and a dead wall can shake you up. Lessons learned in Bogotá.

[sallysbutter]

Roland Barthes, A Lover’s Discourse

[larmoyante]

A savage desire for strong emotions and sensations burns inside me: a rage against this soft-tinted, shallow, standardized and sterilized life, and a mad craving to smash something up, a department store, say, or a cathedral, or myself.

Hermann Hesse, Steppenwolf (via larmoyante)

[touba]

[mythologyofblue]

Excerpt from the table of contents of Invisible Cities by Italo Calvino (via touba)

[itsthewaitingunknown]

Of course I’ll hurt you. Of course you’ll hurt me. Of course we will hurt each other. But this is the very condition of existence. To become spring, means accepting the risk of winter. To become presence, means accepting the risk of absence.

The Little Prince  (via bl-ossomed)

[almostanobject-blog]

As I watch you give in to your vices, smoking, softly exhaling the dark matter into the wind.Gazing into the emptiness of your thoughts one after the other, I can’t help but to love you. Whiskey takes it’s turn, it’s amber glow touching the roughness of your lips. How lovely to anticipate that one of these days you’ll surrender to me as you do to them.