Dr. Morbius12 @drmorbius12 - Tumblr Blog

I can't believe it! I sold this painting! It's my interpretation of the Green Man mythology, a pre-christian concept that embodies rebirth, nature, fertility, and interconnectedness. Thanks, Green Man!

#original art #art on tumblr #original photo #dreams

apoemaday

“The Brain -- is wider than the Sky --...”

by Emily Dickinson

The Brain — is wider than the Sky — For — put them side by side — The one the other will contain With ease — and you — beside —

The Brain is deeper than the sea — For — hold them — Blue to Blue — The one the other will absorb — As sponges — Buckets — do —

The Brain is just the weight of God — For — Heft them — Pound for Pound — And they will differ — if they do — As Syllable from Sound —

topcat77

Carole A. Feuerman

Nude Moran, 2011

Oil on resin

Superrealist movement

My Shadow Soul

dancing at the

Doors of Dawn

blows a mighty

Golden Horn

That wakes the Dead

from Slumber Deep

and shakes the Earth

beneath my Feet

#poetry on tumblr #diary of a fool #dreams #fly by night philosopher #writerscreed

shamanfox

Patch keeps her prophecies in her whiskers. 🔮🐈

She does not speak in thunder or candle smoke like the frauds downtown. No velvet robe. No dramatic music. Just a gray-striped oracle standing barefoot on carpet, staring into a crystal sphere like the universe owes her answers.

Inside the glass ball the world bends strangely. The room folds inward. Your camera becomes a tiny mechanical moon trapped beneath her nose. And Patch studies it all with the grave concentration of an ancient fortune teller reading destiny from spilled tea leaves.

She sees things.

Not the future exactly. Cats are above such linear arrangements.

She sees the 3 a.m. loneliness before you do.

The mornings you will survive by coffee and stubbornness alone.

The unopened grief hidden in junk drawers and old hoodies.

The exact second a human heart begins healing while pretending it isn’t.

For payment, she accepts crinkly receipts, unattended water glasses, and souls lightly seasoned with tuna.

By dusk, Patch will leave the crystal ball and sprint through the hallway after an invisible enemy only she can see. But for this single suspended moment, with sunlight crowning her ears gold and her pupils wide as eclipses, she looks less like a housecat and more like a tiny furry god consulting the architecture of fate.

shamanfox

She gleams upon the crest beneath the sun, a bright silver forgetting, a brief white mouth of foam drinking light and calling it herself, until the sea loosens beneath her and she drifts downward through green cathedrals into the blue ache below, where old griefs bloom as coral from the skeletons of vanished selves, where longing sheds its skin and sinks, where names dissolve into salt and silence, and deeper still the abyss stirs her, churns her, unravels her thread by thread into the vast breathing body that dreamed her, until she is no longer wave but depth, no longer crest but current, no longer a solitary brightness trembling against the horizon, but the whole dark ocean remembering its own face, and then rising again, carrying the abyss inside her, lifting toward sunlight, toward wind, toward another luminous breaking, another holy forgetting, another shining moment of ocean pretending to be a wave.

sictransitgloriamvndi

“The tyrant will always find a pretext for his tyranny, and it is useless for the innocent to try by reasoning to get justice, when the oppressor intends to be unjust.” - Aesop

Nothing At All

As I stared at the clock, watching the minute hand repeatedly bounce back and forth between 12:00 and 12:01, I began to realize with a sinking feeling that I was no longer existing in the normal slip stream of time. Wtf was happening?

Would I be trapped forever on repeat, unable to escape back into the usual entropic flow? My heart raced with fear, anxiety welling up like an errant ice cube accidentally stuck in my throat, not moving, not melting, cutting off all breath with no way to remove it. I felt as if the whole universe was spinning down into a bottomless pit with no chance of escape.

Then, as if from a great distance, I began to hear my name being called, ever so soft at first, then louder and louder until it was like thunder breaking across a darkling sky. All at once there was a loud pop and once more the clock began to tick forward as if nothing had happened, nothing at all.

#writerscreed #diary of a fool #strange tales

unsubconscious

Olga Kuzmina ‘The scent of lilac’, 2022 Oil on canvas, 80 x 70cm

jareckiworld

Otto Möller (1883-1964) — Don Quijote [oil on canvas, 1921]

asuddenline

'Sonnet XVIII: Love,' Pablo Neruda

I don’t love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz or arrow of carnations that propagate fire: I love you as certain dark things are loved, secretly, between the shadow and the soul. I love you as the plant that doesn’t bloom and carries hidden within itself the light of those flowers, and thanks to your love, darkly in my body lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where, I love you simply, without problems or pride: I love you in this way because I don’t know any other way of loving

but this, in which there is no I or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.