Haley Kit

Mountains + Museums 

[modernviga]

https://www.instagram.com/p/B_NV1HOJjUF/

[haley-kit]

I have walked through many lives, some of them my own, and I am not who I was, though some principle of being abides, from which I struggle not to stray. When I look behind, as I am compelled to look before I can gather strength to proceed on my journey, I see the milestones dwindling toward the horizon and the slow fires trailing from the abandoned camp-sites, over which scavenger angels wheel on heavy wings. Oh, I have made myself a tribe out of my true affections, and my tribe is scattered! How shall the heart be reconciled to its feast of losses? In a rising wind the manic dust of my friends, those who fell along the way, bitterly stings my face. Yet I turn, I turn, exulting somewhat, with my will intact to go wherever I need to go, and every stone on the road precious to me. In my darkest night, when the moon was covered and I roamed through wreckage, a nimbus-clouded voice directed me: "Live in the layers, not on the litter." Though I lack the art to decipher it, no doubt the next chapter in my book of transformations is already written. I am not done with my changes.

The Layers, Stanley Kunitz

[luthienne]

Anne Carson, from Grief Lessons: Four Plays by Euripides

[thevisualvamp]

Clouds

[coloursteelsexappeal]

San Francisco, California; 1961

[existential-celestial]

“MARCH is the month of expectation, The things we do not know,”

— Emily Dickinson, from “XLVIII,” in Complete Poems

[violentwavesofemotion-deactivat]

I am not sad; nor am I either cheerful or indifferent. The more I sink into my heart here on this deserted seashore, the more I feel a boundless sorrow flooding my blood and washing it away.

Nikos Kazantzakis, from a letter to Elsa Lange written c. July 1923 (via violentwavesofemotion)

[naaaaakaaaasyoooo]

[indevotio]

das ist so schön

[priveting]

(by Alfred)

[syringavulgaris]

Mary Oliver, Worm Moon

[haley-kit]

Late at night, do you lay around wondering? Counting all the lines, ain't so funny now Say, times are hard, you get this far, but it Ain't the way that you want I'll be damned if this old man don't Start to count on his losses But it's still alright

[kxowledge]

“I am constantly trying to communicate something incommunicable, to explain something inexplicable, to tell about something I only feel in my bones and which can only be experienced in those bones.”

— Franz Kafka, from Letters to Milena

[luthienne]

People near me don’t know how difficult it is to pretend that           nothing happened, that everything is normal.

Czelaw Milosz, from Second Space: New Poems; “Notebook” (via luthienne)

[wild-cabins]

Darrin Stevens

[haley-kit]

My favorite view.

[cinemabreak]

Bande à Part (1964)

Directed by Jean-Luc Godard Cinematography by Raoul Coutard

“A minute of silence can last a long time… a whole eternity.”

[haley-kit]

“What must I give more death to today, in order to generate more life? What do I know should die, but am hesitant to allow to do so? What must die in me in order for me to love? What not-beauty do I fear? Of what use is the power of the not-beautiful to me today? What should die today? What should live? What life am I afraid to give birth to? If not now, when?” - Dr. Pinkola Estés

[haley-kit]

This is what you shall do: Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul; and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.

Walt Whitman, “Introduction to Leaves of Grass.” 1855