trying to be decent

if ya soul intact, let me know

[fugitivenotes]

[bled]

[pixendrit]

As I Was Moving Ahead Occasionally I Saw Brief Glimpses of Beauty

[fugitivenotes]

The fact that the suspension of judgment may be impossible does not release one from the responsibility of perception.

James Baldwin, "The Evidence of Things Not Seen"

[huariqueje]

[thunderstruck9]

Anne-Pierre de Kat (Dutch, 1881-1968), Still Life with Pipe, 1926. Oil on canvas, 41 x 39 cm.

via huariqueje

[fugitivenotes]

Ra, Your Gignity Our Echo-- Fred Moten

[theclassicsreader]

I came into the world imbued with the will to find a meaning in things, my spirit filled with the desire to attain to the source of the world, and then I found that I was an object in the midst of other objects.

Frantz Fanon, Black Skin, White Masks (via theclassicsreader)

[tanyushenka]

Souk Erfoud, Morocco, 1960′s 

[tanyushenka]

Ode au soleil levant Bedouin praying to sunrise in the desert near Zagora, Morocco @Christine Lebrasseur

[notesfromtheundergroundman]

Don’t let us forget that the causes of human actions are usually immeasurably more complex and varied than our subsequent explanations of them.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Idiot (via notesfromtheundergroundman)

[virgin-suicide-s]

[nemfrog]

“The Sun crossing the Equator about March twentieth.” Astronomy for everybody. 1902.

[philosophybits]

Let us not pretend to doubt in philosophy what we do not doubt in our hearts.

Charles Sanders Peirce, Collected Papers (via philosophybits)

[elegieenbleu]

JOSEPH ALANEN / 

Les Vierges de Vellamo Epopée du Kalevala, Chant V (1919-1920)

[acknowledgetheabsurd]

“Hors du soleil, des baisers et des parfums sauvages, tout nous paraît futile.”

—

Albert Camus,Noces à Tipasa

English:  “ Everything seems futile here except the sun, our kisses, and the wild scents of the earth.” Albert Camus, Wedding at Tipasa

(via causeries-litteraires)

[agelessphotography]

Between France and the USA, Ilse Bing, 1936

[kafkaesque-world]

“Dark. Very still. Night. Its livingness I want to feel and quiet.”

— Franz Kafka, from The Penal Colony: Stories; “A Hunger Artist”