If someone ever tells you a certain song is important to them you should turn it up and lay on your bed and close your eyes and really listen to it even if its 10 minutes long because at the end you will know that person much better I think

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If someone ever tells you a certain song is important to them you should turn it up and lay on your bed and close your eyes and really listen to it even if its 10 minutes long because at the end you will know that person much better I think
It’s October 3rd.
Dents-du-Midi Ferdinand Hodler 1912 (seen in Berlin :)
Ferdinand Hodler - The Dents du Midi from Champéry (1916)
art by Dalia Sapon-Shevin
Fun little math trick I find really helpful: the ratio of a mile to a kilometer is within 1% of the Golden Ratio. That means that if you have a good memory for Fibonacci numbers (1 2 3 5 8 13 21 34 55 89) you can convert pretty accurately by taking consecutive Fibonacci numbers.
For example, 89 kilometers is really close to 55 miles (55.3). Or, say you need to convert 26 miles to kilometers: 26 can be written as 21 plus 5, so taking the next Fibonacci number up gives 34 and 8, meaning it should be around 42 kilometers. Sure enough, it’s 41.8 km!
i need several moments, math like this scares me
Not gonna lie, as much as I want to be helpful and comprehensible, I am very proud of provoking that reaction image.
I can do km to miles (move the decimal point over, multiply times 6, it’s close enough for most things)
I can’t do miles to km!
(via Cerámica escultórica prehispánica)
Venice at Sunset, Ivan Aivazovsky, 1873
Oil on canvas 25 ¾ x 40 in. (65.5 x 101.6 cm)
Go to the Limits of Your Longing
by Rainer Maria Rilke
God speaks to each of us as he makes us, then walks with us silently out of the night.
These are the words we dimly hear:
You, sent out beyond your recall, go to the limits of your longing. Embody me.
Flare up like a flame and make big shadows I can move in.
Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final. Don’t let yourself lose me.
Nearby is the country they call life. You will know it by its seriousness.
Give me your hand.
José María Velasco "Cardón", 1887
Edward Munch, The Sun
624 points • 82 comments
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel, you were talking so brave and so sweet, giving me head on the unmade bed, while the limousines wait in the street. Those were the reasons and that was New York, we were running for the money and the flesh. And that was called love for the workers in song probably still is for those of them left. Ah but you got away, didn't you babe, you just turned your back on the crowd, you got away, I never once heard you say, I need you, I don't need you, I need you, I don't need you and all of that jiving around. I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel you were famous, your heart was a legend. You told me again you preferred handsome men but for me you would make an exception. And clenching your fist for the ones like us who are oppressed by the figures of beauty, you fixed yourself, you said, "Well never mind, we are ugly but we have the music." And then you got away, didn't you babe... I don't mean to suggest that I loved you the best, I can't keep track of each fallen robin. I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel, that's all, I don't even think of you that often.
“Let everything happen to you: beauty and terror. Just keep going. No feeling is final.”
— Rainer Maria Rilke, The Book of Hours (via cosmicspread)
"Absolutely no one comes to save us but us."
Ismatu Gwendolyn, "you've been traumatized into hating reading (and it makes you easier to oppress)", from Threadings, on Substack [ID'd]