born in waves

Andreia Mariana Fernandes 21 | Porto

[untrustyou]

[littlemissartchick-deactivated2]

[r3ditum]

[dpicchio]

I had my boyfriend who smokes use matches for a few days instead of a lighter and record the date and time and whatever he was thinking about while smoking. 

It’s funny that he quit smoking a few weeks after this project. 

[danger]

[abduction]

[lumineers]

[dddiva-blog]

“I make no apologies for how I chose to repair what you broke.”

Meredith Grey (via professoralbusdumbledore)

[addaenurse]

Mahsa Radar by Addae Nurse

[cherryadepics-deactivated201712]

[undr]

Sergio Larrain. Naples, Italy 1959

[mennyfox55]

[borninwaves]

E tem dias, como nesta manhã de sábado, em que sinto as palavras voar à minha volta. Um alívio ensurdecedor, afinal ainda não me abandonaram completamente. E quase tenho suficientes para um poema, para um manifesto, o que para já chega e tranquiliza. Dias tão desalinhados, em que acordo lentamente no meio de um caos doméstico, e pergunto, "como pode a poesia andar no meio disto?". E contudo anda, e vem, não pousa nos meus dedos, mas deixa-se ficar pelo ar, entranha-se lentamente na pele, e chega.

[borninwaves]

Ode to Bukowski

I was looking at a picture of Bukowski’s tombstone and I thought to myself, “I gotta fly over to California someday and just put my hands on that stone for a while.” Then I realised I didn’t need to do such a thing. What would an old, dead man do to me through the grave? Inspiration is this mysterious muse that everyone is chasing around without realising it’s at the tip of our fingers.

I don’t need to touch Bukowski’s tombstone. Right now it is enough to just think about it, and I am doing it. I’m not even trying. Guess that was the whole point, wasn’t it? “Don’t try.” I am not, sir. Not trying. It just came to me. You were a genius even without a bottle of wine. Maybe someday I’ll stop at your grave and leave a full glass. Not for the inspiration, the romanticising I’d be able to get from that experience, no. I’ll just share a drink with you. My master. You teach me something new every single time I read your words.

Your wisdom goes beyond literature. You know the real deal. You are the bastard who made it. I’ll always drink to that.

[undr]

[undr]

Henri Cartier-Bresson

London. 1951

[arabellesicardi]

Emotional Labor

[placzliwosc-deactivated20171213]