Of Hearth And Bone

Coming Soon // In Progress // Under Construction

[shisasan]

Love is the oldest instinct, the first truth burned into blood and bone.

🜍 ⟡ ⟢

[house-of-neptune]

(via Perfume Sprinkler | LACMA Collections)

[weltenwellen]

Marina Tsvetaeva, from “Poem Of The End”, Bride of Ice

[lsleofskye]

Untitled

[lachantefleurie]

“Underneath the water an odd verdigris glow is soaking out from somewhere. The swimmer swims along through rooms mysteriously lit as an early Annunciation. Stillness rushes everywhere. It is awake. It knows him and it cares nothing.”

— Anne Carson, Plainwater

[nemfrog]

Underwater scene with mermaids and a slain evildoer. The red fairy book. 1890. Lancelot Speed, illus.

Internet Archive

[a-quiet-green-agreement]

–John Keats

[wanderthewood]

Faroe Islands by the_kafka

[deathdivine]

“…the ancient, reconciling smell of the sea that, in time, will cleanse everything, scour the old bones white, wash away all the stains.”

— Angela Carter, from The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories; “The Bloody Chamber” (via luthienne)

[lsleofskye]

Photographer: Izaac Fabian

[weltenwellen]

Rainer Maria Rilke, Journal of My Other Self

[cultureandkitsch]

[detournementsmineurs]

Box with shell in silver and scallop shell, England, circa 1600-25.

[sealonging]

“Let’s dream of another shore. Where we can do as we please, between bouts of conventional extravagance found in each others’ bodies. Where we aren’t short of breath from the laughter of aching ribs. Just us without error, along with the wind, and the waves, and the clouds.”

— wyddershyns (via wnq-writers)

[dinsintegration]

[apollon-quotes]

Marsyas blamed Apollo….for being Apollo; for wearing his hair long, for having a fair face and smooth body, for his skill in so many arts, and for the opulence of his fortune

– Apelius, Florida

[sam-shatsky]

pacific swells

[mythologicalnet]

“…the descent to the Underworld is easy. / night and day the gates of shadowy Death stand open wide, / but to retrace your steps, to climb back to the upper air— / there the struggle, there the labor lies….”

— virgil, the aeneid, 6.149-52, translated by robert fagles  (via mirroir)