easy/lucky/free

an attempt to document the days for myself and curious eyes (everything is taken or written by me unless otherwise stated/reblogged) www.thealtarcollective.com

[thequotejournals]

I belong to quick, futile moments of intense feeling. Yes, I belong to moments. Not to people.

Virginia Woolf, A Passionate Apprentice (via ughpoems)

[buttonpoetry]

I was born into a body and told it was on loan to me.

Sam Rush - “Body, Infinitive” (Button Live)

[thelovejournals]

I will remember the kisses our lips raw with love and how you gave me everything you had and how i offered you what was left of me.

Charles Bukowski (via ughpoems)

[positivelybody]

Gloomy but beautiful morning thoughts

[wordsnquotes]

What are you? A chaos.

Anaïs Nin, Fire: From a Journal of Love (via wordsnquotes)

[lets-catch-some-waves]

[thelovejournals]

And I would hide my face in you and you would hide your face in me, and nobody would ever see us any more.

Franz Kafka, The Castle (via thelovejournals)

[perrfectly]

That is part of the beauty of all literature. You discover that your longings are universal longings, that you’re not lonely and isolated from anyone. You belong.

F. Scott Fitzgerald (via perrfectly)

[tracywan]

And another.

[lovetheghost]

Somewhere, something incredible is waiting to be known.

Carl Sagan (via lovetheghost)

[visual-poetry]

»evil« by mana morimoto

[on tumblr]

[le-jaune]

CY TWOMBLY

UNTITLED (CAPTIVA ISLAND, FLORIDA), 1974

[neontraphouse]

Check out these amazing fan posters for Stranger Things! I’m saving all the great ones by amazingly talented artists on tumblr including the great Glen Brogan and Matt Ferguson. I would buy prints of any one of these! HINT HINT!

[blomkvis]

The Lobster (2015)

[enochliew]

Hearbeat by Charles Pétillon

Made from 100,000 balloons with gently pulsating light to reflect the history, energy and dynamism of the district.

[jackbaragag]

[luthienne]

some nights you are the lighthouse / some nights the sea / what this means I don’t know / desire other than the need / to be shattered & rebuilt / the mind forgetting / the body’s crime of living

Ocean Vuong, from Night Sky with Exit Wounds (via luthienne)