Sade Olutola
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roma★
h
untitled
noise dept.
Product Placement
Not today Justin
if i look back, i am lost
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hello vonnie
todays bird
macklin celebrini has autism
Interview Vampire Daily
#extradirty
YOU ARE THE REASON
cherry valley forever
ojovivo
taylor price
Keni
seen from Singapore
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Germany
seen from Saudi Arabia
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Brazil
seen from United States
seen from Brazil
seen from Thailand
seen from Malaysia
seen from Peru
seen from T1
seen from South Africa
seen from Netherlands
seen from Vietnam
seen from T1
seen from United States
seen from United States
@gortsia-blog
In passing from history to Nature, 'myth' acts economically: it abolishes the complexity of human acts, it gives them the simplicity of essences, it does away with all dialectics, with any going back beyond what is immediately visible, it organises a world which is without contradictions because it is without depth, a world wide open and wallowing in the evident, it establishes a blissful clarity: things appear to mean something by themselves
barthes
something that I made and reminded me the only photograph /other than our faces you had hanged on your room
Even in its first faint traces, love could alter a landscape. It wrote unimagined stories and made the most beautiful, forbidding places.
Anna Marie McLemore, from Wild Beauty (Feiwel & Friends, 2017)
Whatever it does Again is worth waiting for […] worth standing alone For and arranging the body For light to score off you In its own way,
James Dickey, from “The Flash,” The Whole Motion: Collected Poems (Wesleyan University Press, 1992)
In my and William Li’s words
Do you know that Prometheus eventhough he was free he was obligated to wear a ring out of the chains and the rock of the mountain he was captivated?
But I am sure you don’t know that this ring was the same ring we used to commit to each other, like the Eagle did to visit Prometheus everyday.
A poem, being an instance of language, hence essentially dialogue, may be a letter in a bottle thrown out to the sea with the—surely not always strong—hope that it may somehow wash up somewhere, perhaps on the shoreline of the heart. In this way, too, poems are en route: they are headed towards. Toward what? Toward something open, inhabitable, an approachable you, perhaps, an approachable reality.
Paul Celan (via nemophilies)
I know, I know and you know, we knew, we did not know, we were there, after all, and not there and at times when only the void stood between us we got all the way to each other.
Paul Celan, from So Many Constellations (via nemophilies)
add a first caption, if you like
Portrait of Ga, Margaret Tait, 1952.
Aerial (1974) *** I’m out here now on the roof. Look! I had to get nearer the sky, For the city was too full of rooms And I can’t be content with a window. It’s too small a thing to accept the ready-made frame. We builders must keep making our own cities. Oh, please Don’t fell the trees For your city, because I need them for mine. “A Poem for a Morning”, Subjects and Sequences (1960)
NOISY IN EVERY STEP
the unseen sea
Karel Miler Close to the Clouds, 1977 It is within everyone's possibility to be closer to the clouds. It is not necessary to dream; it suffices to jump up a bit. It is not a poetic metaphor, but a normal, ordinary activity pointing to our limits.
